


After shocks

by BrickylLove



Series: "You and I" - AFTERSHOCKS series [3]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Roller Coaster, Family Feels, Feels, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, PTSD, Possessive Rick, Rickyl, Settles back down, So much light and fluff until author bends sideways, Warning: gets darker, a very OOC Negan, seriously, so much freaking fun to write, so much sweet love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 73,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2649746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrickylLove/pseuds/BrickylLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How will Rick and Daryl adjust to life, and their new relationship, in the safe zone?</p><p>Rick and Daryl (established relationship). Set after season 4. This is the third part of a series, but can be read as a stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's Perspective

**Daryl's Perspective**

You've been gone for three long days and you can't believe how much you miss them. Though the hunt was successful _good times,_ 3 large bucks and a nice assortment of ducks and rabbits, you can't wait to get home, to see your family _to see Ric_ k and hear whatever new word Judy has learned.

Though you keep your head tucked when walking around the safe zone, it feels like eyes follow you everywhere. People. You _loathe_ them. Except for your family, and to a much lesser extent, the hunters, who've earned your respect. But some of the others around the safe zone? This new world hasn't made their stares any better than before the apocalypse, back when others' eyes said you were a piece of shit Dixon, just like your brother, _or worse_ , just like your father.

Back then, those stares passed over your skin like broken glass, snagging deep cuts into you, but this, _this shit's just sandpaper,_ nothing you can't handle or life hasn't already _scrubbed you raw with_.

Rick, you've noticed when walking next to him, is somehow is okay with the attention from both the women and the men alike. And though the women that eye him irritate you, the men that do drive you insane. Who knew so many men were gay or at least thought about guys often enough for the curiosity to gleam in their eyes?

"Good relationships attract others, Daryl," he breathlessly tells you as you gently bite the sharp bone of his hip, "It's natural for them to want more than they have. To want someone special for themselves."

 _Fuck that bullshit_ , you think, _no one will ever take you from me_ , as you suck the length of him deep into your throat.

You try to fit in, you do ... _well maybe not hard_ and you know the truth of why they focus on you, it's him. It's Rick. It's his eyes like laser beams tracking the way you walk, the way the slightest quirk of your mouth has him sighing, and how he never seems to look away from you. The heat in his gaze that _scorches your skin_ and that he never hides from anyone.

You know why they want what you have, but it doesn't make it okay. While some may want to know what makes you so special, to hold the interest of such a man, the reality is it's not you they want, _it's him_ , its the male half of the Dynamic Duo that turns them on.

Dynamic Duo. The moniker still makes you secretly grin when you hear it. A picture of Michonne and Rick in brightly colored tights sporting lightening bolts across their chests pops unbidden into your head.

The pair are amazing, and though you've seen Rick and Michonne kill plenty of times, _there is something magical_ about the team they've become in recent weeks. It makes you grateful for the samurai, there's no one better _besides you_ to watch Rick's back than Michonne.

The only time you've been comfortable outside your home is when you're beside one of your family, or in the woods with your hunters. Of those 5 men (two gone now), not a one seems to view you any differently since finding out about you and Rick.  Out in the woods, life is only about surviving and hunting, and the hunters respect that you keep them alive and can kill anything that moves.

Before the apocalypse, you never went to an eye or ear doctor, never had the _accuracy_ of either measured or tested, but you do always seem the first to hear or see something. And those skills are respected. Respect is still a new concept for you, but you're adjusting.

Now, as you head to your house, you ignore _but are aware of_ everything around you. Seeing your small 2 story makes your heart beat a little faster _never really had a home before_ and you smile at the two new potted plants on the porch _Rick's green thumb a_ nd love that you don't have to knock, that you can just walk right in, _that this is your home too_.

Hanging up your coat and crossbow _in your spots_ , you can hear animated conversation from the kitchen. Rick, Beth, Michonne, and Carl. Though you want to see them desperately, you pause at the doorway to breathe it all in. To breathe in Rick.

Like your eyes contain a homing beacon Rick spins in his chair, sighing, "Daryl. You're back," the blue of his eyes searching your eyes and your face as he grins and barrels to you, striking into you like a tackle _just gentler_ and you stumble back several feet in an attempt to keep your balance.

He grabs your head, and begins peppering kisses on your lips, cheeks, and forehead, whispering a mixture of Rick jibberish, _I love you missed you too long you okay fuck I love you_.

If someone had told you a month ago that Rick would love you like this, you'd have dismissed it as a fool's mutterings, and you still don't really know how to take all this love, like you should store it somewhere, fill your pockets and your lungs with it.

"Stop," you say, but when his mouth pauses and he leans back to glow at you, you kiss him, and it's as electric as the first time he kissed you.

"Oh gross," Carl says from the kitchen doorway, and you and Rick break apart to grin at the teenager, "You two are really nauseating."

"I think they're sweet," Michonne adds, wrapping her arms around Carl and resting her head on top of his, "But they're going give me a toothache."

You bump fists with Carl, and head to the kitchen. Judith spots you and squeals in delight. As you pick her up it crosses your mind _how similar the toddler's greeting is to Rick's._

You smile at Beth, the girl who has become your best friend, and she winks at you, knowing exactly what you're thinking. Though others of your family are happy for you and Rick, Beth takes her joy to a whole new level. _No one has ever been so pleased and proud for you_ , and you lean down and kiss her cheek. Damn, you're getting soft.

You sit with your family around the table, Rick pressed to your side, Beth brings you a loaded plate, and as you dig in _fork_ , _remember to use the damn fork_ everyone regales you with stories.

The Dynamic Duo apparently have been busy taking out small herds, too busy to even go on a run in your absence. Beth's been helping some of the older women can vegetables from the greenhouse, and Carl may or may not have a girlfriend. Noticing the teen's frown at the teasing, you change the subject to the giggling toddler in your lap.

Judy's new words include Aggie and Lenn, and as if they've been summoned, Maggie and Glenn appear in the kitchen, grinning a greeting at you.

Rick tolerates all of this for about 10 minutes, but he's getting antsy _actually twitching_ , and finally Michonne says, "Go. Go let him check you for injuries before he loses his mind." Everyone laughs and you blush, and you've barely handed Judy to Maggie before he's tugging you from the kitchen.

You fly up the stairs with him, taking the steps two at a time, and you're both laughing as you reach your bedroom _yall's bedroom_ , slam and lock the door, and tumble to the bed. .......


	2. ...and Rick's So Sprung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's perspective. Still more fluff and yes, all of our favorite, smut. I could live in this story.

**Rick's Perspective**

You fall onto the bed _he's home he's finally home_ and you hug him to you _that waist those shoulders that face_ and you bury your nose in his neck _and it's like you're the one who's come home_.

He's chuckling at you and the vibrations from his chest finally satisfy you that he lives. Daryl _survived_ another hunt, he's in your arms, hugging you back, and the world _your world_ is perfect again.

You hate it, but there's a morbid part of you that constantly expects his death _maybe remnants from Lori_ and you know that there's no one more capable of taking care of himself than Daryl. Knowing that doesn't affect your fears, and the last three days seemed like _three weeks_.

Obsessive and clingy, your actions since he became yours _completely yours_ have to stump him, but he tolerates your behaviors, though you know you must appear _bizarre_ to him.

You want to tell him the enormity of what fills your soul _but he knows_ so you bite the words and force them back into your heart, where they fight you for dominance. _I love you more than my own life_.

Instead you show him, forcing yourself to pull away, unbuttoning his shirt, enjoying each reveal of skin, and kissing each, licking and groaning at the feel and taste of him. For a moment he lays back on your bed _y'all's bed_ watching you like you're a puzzle _whose pieces he can't fit together_. Then he's sitting up, ripping off his remaining clothes as you attack your own.

Bare flesh meets and both of you savor the moment and you hold his eyes, trying to behave your obsessive tendencies and give him a tiny bit of space.

"I love you," he whispers _gravel in his voice_ and your heart skips as he squints blue up at you, "and I missed you, too."

It sounds so perfect _and is exactly what you needed to hear_ and when did you become such a girl? It's true, just a few weeks ago, you were a normal 43 year old man. You know that _you're still you_ , still the same pragmatic, no nonsense Rick in every other aspect of your life, but when it comes to Daryl _your man, you're a mess_. 

He sees your desperation _and though he doesn't understand it_ he takes your face into his hands and whispers, "I'm home. I'm safe. Now fuck me."

You grin _you can't help it_  he's the sexiest thing you've ever seen, and your grin doesn't leave your face even as you kiss him. And he's grinning back at you. You nip his bottom lip, tongue caressing the sting, and just like that, passion consumes you both. Your tongues thrust wildly, seeking every cranny of each other's mouths, then he moans, pressing his hardness tightly against your own and you have to be inside him right now. 

Considering the short amount of time you've had another man _Daryl_ as a lover, you've become an expert at preparing his body to take you. Lubricant appears from your nightstand and your fingers are _stroking inside_ the tightness of his ass. He's moaning again, but softly, both of you conscious of your family below, and as you _slowly slide into him_ , and he pants into your face, and your only thought is making this good for him. It doesn't take long before he starts to become undone, before that look that _he's now worshiping you_ glazes his eyes. You keep the pace slow, stroking into the _tight heat_ of his body _possessing_ _him_ hitting that spot inside him over and over until his body clenches around your dick and he spends his orgasm against your stomachs. Pleasure overcomes you, and your back bows as you follow deep within him. 

Later, in the shower, as he stands still and lets you clean him, massage him, kiss his wet skin, you know _he owns you_ , body and soul. 


	3. Possession Isn't a Bad Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's perspective. Rick gets a little possessive and finally, some plot, though admittedly not a lot. I have plans though. Bear with me.

**Daryl's Perspective**

You didn't mean to doze off. Before you started sleeping next to Rick, you truly hadn't known what rest was and here you are, _at 41_ , learning why other people _weirdos_ like to take naps. As a child, sleeping could mean waking unprotected _had to keep your head safe_ , so you'd trained yourself to use your hands as a pillow and sleep with one eye open. Blankets, too, could be used to trap you, so you slept fully dressed _covers were for pussies_. Even after you'd escaped from that shithole shack you'd been raised in, _running away with 10 dollars and the clothing on your back_ , your sleeping habits never changed. You could grab a few minutes sitting up against a tree, and it had always been enough.

How strange it is to _slumber naked_ in Rick's arms, he always seems to surround you somehow, though of the two of you, you are the broader and taller. He's such a huge man in your mind's eye that sometimes when you stand next to him, it surprises you that you're actually taller. How quickly you've adapted _to this safety_ this feeling of protection. So much so that the nights with the hunters are now sleepless, and you take all the watches they'll let you, which is most of the time.

Your head is on Rick's chest _best pillow ever_ and though he appears asleep, the fingers gently playing in your hair _such affection still stuns you_ let you know he's not. When you turn your head to place a kiss over his heart, his breath instantly quickens and his palm cups the back of your head. You lean into his hand and met the love _shining blue_ in his eyes.

He turns you inside out when he looks at you like that _like you're precious_ or even worthy of that look. It feels undeserved and a part of you wonders when that look will change and he'll finally see who you really are _a piece of shit Dixon_. With a crazy ass dad and an asshole of a brother.

It's not fair to him to think this way _and you know it_ but that doesn't stop you. _Rick has never judged your upbringing_. You've never been good enough and now that the best man you've ever known thinks you are, well ... it's still an adjustment.

Rick's throat works, like he's about to put _that look_ in his eyes into words, so you shut him up with a kiss. The kiss, though not without passion, is more about enjoying his mouth _that clever tongue_ than about sex. 

Eventually you and Rick rejoin the family, and you take baby Judith into your arms, rocking her back and forth until her tiny eyes drift closed. In so many ways, she's your daughter, too. Her love is unconditional, and except for a stray dog you'd once kept in the woods near the Dixon shack, _the sweet little mutt your asshole father found and smothered as you screamed_ , you've never had such an innocent soul love you like this. 

Carl goes to answer a knock at the door and returns with the news that Monroe has called a meeting for tonight in the community hall and you and Rick need to attend. As always, you defer to Rick, and as he nods at you, you know you'll be there. Maggie, Glenn, and _probably Michonne too_ think you always defer to Rick because he's the leader, but the truth is you don't know how to judge another's man worth unless you see it with your eyes _fuck some pretty words_. When your group first arrived in the safe zone, and Rick appeared to respect Douglas Monroe, that was _good enough_ for you. 

......

Monroe is a big man with a booming voice that fills the community hall. As often as your eyes track the man pacing across the raised platform, you look to Rick _in his chair next to yours_ for his reaction. Rick's face remains stoic as the man calls off all hunts for the foreseeable future, but as Monroe also adds a cessation of runs, Rick's head _tilts_ and you can see his mind working. It's fascinating to you, the way his mind doesn't just hear but _interprets messages_ , and as the meeting ends, you can't wait to get home to hear his thoughts. 

"I need to speak to Monroe," he tells you, and abruptly leaves your side. There's a reason he doesn't want you beside him for what you know is a confrontation, but you trust him to tell you later. You stand, moving away from the seating area to lean your shoulders against the wall near the doorway, your eyes glued to Rick and Monroe engaged in a heated discussion. 

Adam, one of your hunters, a tall beanpole of a man, walks up, clasps your shoulder, and starts reliving the long story of the tenacity of that last buck you killed.

Hunters always relive the hunt, especially the prey that fought so hard _you can only admire them_ or the ones that got away, the ones you spend the _rest of your life_ dreaming of meeting again. Those stories always grow, and you're unsurprised that instead of the 3 arrows you actually shot into the buck, Adam says 2. Next week, you'll have brought the buck down with one, and at some point, _perhaps when a new hunter joins your men_ , you will have jumped on the buck's back and slashed its throat with a sharp rock. _Such is the way of hunters_.

You don't really smile at Adam, but you do nod. All of the hunters have grown used to the fact you rarely say a word, and as such is the way with hardened men, they're just fine with that.

When Adam's hand quickly drops from your shoulder, and he backs up a step, _wiping his hand on his pants_ as though there was acid on your shoulder, you don't even have to turn _though you do_ to know Rick is there.

 _He takes your breath away_. Maybe if he looked jealous, it could possibly have bothered you _but probably not_ , but instead of any jealousy, you simply look into the face of death.

There's a slight smile on his lips as he pins Adam with a look _like a bug in a science project_ but truthfully he looks homicidal. Like he'd kill Adam with his bare hands _and then lick the blood from his fingers_. Rick's eye fuck is so cold, it gives you a little shiver, and poor Adam looks horrified _like maybe he's shit his pants._

Without touching you _Rick knows you can't stand the public stuff_ he stakes a claim on you more real than any hug or open-mouthed kiss could ever have done.

No one's ever been jealous of you, got upset on your behalf, and or acted like they'd kill someone just for touching you. You're so aroused it goes beyond the physical, as if you were to come right now, the top of your head would explode in brain matter.

He hasn't taken a step toward Adam but his upper torso has started _leaning forward slightly_ and you _know_ you can see this getting ugly fast _Rick'll kill him_ so you lean close to whisper in Rick's ear, "You're the only one who's ever gonna fuck me."

You see a slight facial tic, and Rick leans a tiny amount closer in Adam's direction before meeting your gaze. _Fuck it all to hell_ how gorgeous is his possessiveness, how insanely alive does he make you feel wearing death in his eyes, "Home. Now."

Neither of you say goodbye to anyone, and if anyone speaks, you don't hear it. 


	4. The aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's perspective. And finally, a bit more plot. :)

**Rick's Perspective**

The brisk walk to your house is done in silence, you're incredibly _furious_ , disconnected from reality, functioning somewhere close to _what can only be insanity_ , and you can't even look at him. What you just did, crossing the boundaries between love and obsession, what sense did your lover's brain make of that? _Daryl's never been in any relationship before_ and you take him immediately to the stratosphere of jealousy's boundaries? Worse, you know the other man's eyes had only contained camaraderie. That man, Adam, had only wanted Daryl's friendship. And Daryl _needs friends,_ but a part of you _doesn't give a fuck._ The sight of Adam touching him flashes again through your mind and _you fight yourself not to fly back_ and kill the man anyway. 

You can feel Daryl watching you closely. You know some of your behaviors until now have unnerved him, made him cast searching glances underneath his too long hair, the blue of his eyes trying _to figure you out_. You know you've always gone too far _he's not ready_ but you can't seem to help yourself.

That man, one of his hunters, a man _you know_ he trusts, _you would have tore that man's throat out with your teeth without a second thought_. To protect Carl, such an action was justifiable, definitely, but because another simply touched your lover? That's just crazy. In fact, if Daryl hadn't gotten you out of there, you _may have chewed the man's flesh, swallowed, and licked your lips._

You know Daryl, and if the other man's touch had made him uncomfortable, Daryl would have handled it _his own damn self_. What the fuck just happened? _What have you done_?

Beth sits in the living room, playing a clapping game with Judith, but you stomp right past the pair as if you _don't even see them_ and head straight up the stairs to your room. You hear Judith cry out, and know that Daryl leaves your side to go to the pair, _as you should have done._

In your bedroom, you pace furiously, one end of the small room to the other, back and forth. You _have_ to walk this off. Regain your sanity. Back and forth, back and forth. You can hear them talking, the shower running at one point, Daryl shutting down the house, putting Judith to bed. Saying goodnight to your children. Quietly explaining to Carl that you just need a good night's sleep and will see him in the morning. 

When the door opens, minutes or _hours_ later, he's squinting at you, chewing on a thumbnail. You stop abruptly, his very presence _he didn't leave you_ calming you some.

"Hey," he says, slipping around the door, closing it, and pressing his back to the doorjamb.

And just like that the demon on your back drops away. You sit on the edge of your bed, scrubbing your hands across the stubble of your bare cheeks _sometimes you miss that beard_ when he shifts, walking over to stand in front of you. You can't look at him _not yet_ but as he starts stripping off his clothes and then reaches for the buttons of your shirt, you look up at him completely for the first time _since you lost your mind in the community_ _hall_ , when you finished your conversation with Monroe and had scanned the room for Daryl.

Rage after that. _Killing rage_ , oh my god, what is wrong with you? You don't move as he unbuttons your shirt, as he tugs it from your arms. His hands gently push your shoulders and you comply, laying back on the bed as he unfastens your jeans and tugs them from your hips. After he's stripped you, you don't move, and blessed blankness enters your mind. _He doesn't hate you._

"Come on," he urges, pulling you up in the bed. It's the first time you can remember laying on his chest, his hand in your hair, and you press your ear to the beat of his heart and _nothing_ has ever calmed you more, brought you back to reality.

"I..." you start to say, but he interrupts.

"No more talking, Rick. Just be quiet," his fingers tighten in your hair, and his other hand is massaging your neck and shoulders.

He doesn't hate you, so you relax completely into his touch, in fact you know he _still_ loves you, it's in his fingers, in his gentleness. You know he _forgives_ you.

You don't move again, you simply listen to his heart beat and eventually fall to sleep.

.......

You wake before dawn to find the two of you have shifted to your normal positions, with him half-sprawled over you. He's heavy, as always, but you don't mind, you're just glad he forgave you for last night. _You can't act like that again_. Even when you found out Shane had fucked your wife, you didn't experience jealousy. Even knowing he still wanted her and wanted you dead. You'd been hurt, mainly stunned that _your most trusted, life-long friend wanted to kill you so he could have your family_. Thinking back over the years of your marriage, you can't remember a single time you'd ever even gotten jealous over Lori. 

But you can't let this stuff eat at you _Daryl wasn't mad_ so you lay there puzzling out Monroe's words. 

"You're thinking too loud," Daryl grumbles against your chest, making you smile.

"It's Monroe. There's some type of threat he isn't telling us about. Says people need to remain calm and he'll tell us what we need to know when we need to know it. Reminded me I'm not the leader here," you tell him, and he lifts his head to meet your eyes. 

"What are you gonna to do?"

"Talk to him again, one on one. There were too many people milling around last night." You lean up to kiss him. He looks so wild in the mornings with his hair standing at crazy angles. _So adorable_. 

"Want me to come with? No hunting for a while."

"Yep, you and Michonne."

......

 _No weapons inside the safe zone_ is one of your early disagreements with Douglas Monroe. Every instinct in you screams at stupidity of the rule. Hunters are the only ones allowed to keep their weapons, mainly due to their odd hours, but even the weapons used on perimeter watch are checked in and out of Monroe's office. Several days after your arrival in the safe zone, you and Michonne were also given exception to the rule, and all of your family carry knives. Monroe had frowned so much at you in those early days, but your family is highly skilled, and the man isn't stupid. 

As you walk to Monroe's house, you know that you, Daryl, and Michonne cause a bit of a commotion. You and Michonne are used to it, people acting like you're _some kind of superhero_ , and the both you of find these people _naive_ too protected. Daryl has his crossbow, Michonne her sword, and your python and red-handled machete are strapped to your hips. Eyes always focus on the weapons, and you see Daryl clutch the bow's shoulder strap. How he _can see to walk_ with his head tucked like that stumps you, and you hope it's simply the attention focused on them and not any embarrassment from _your obsessive behavior_ last night. 

Outside Monroe's office, you nod at Daryl and wink at Michonne. She gets why you've brought them with you. Monroe is already intimidated by you, _has been from the first moment you met_ , but the three of you, you and the two biggest badasses in the safe zone? Well, as Monroe opens to your knock, the look of his face _yep intimidated_ let's you know you were right to bring them, a proper show of strength at your back.

As the three of you crowd into Monroe's tiny office, he says, "I'll tell you what's going on, but they need to wait outside," gesturing nervously at Michonne and Daryl. At your nod, they silently exit, and you know they stand on guard outside the door.

 _You've always been good at reading people_ , and as Monroe points to the chair in front of his desk, you calmly sit. The other man can't hold your gaze and starts fingering some papers on his desk, and _his nerves only grow_ as you wait for him to speak first. 

"Look, I know you disagree with our rules and I appreciate that you and your family are following most of them. We've had threats before and we know how to deal with them. Before you got here. You're a part of us now, and that's why I'm going to tell you."


	5. Family, Confusing Stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's Perspective. Michonne is nosy, the family comes together, and Daryl gets confused.

**Daryl's Perspective**

You and Michonne stand quietly, but despite how hard you try to overhear _straining your damn ears_ Rick and Monroe's conversation, there's nothing. Either the two men are speaking really softly, or Monroe's office has excellent sound-proofing.

Michonne sighs. You can feel her watching you, and wait for the teasing _which you'd never admit you secretly sort of enjoy_  to begin. She surprises you, though, "That bother you last night?"

Of course she knows _fucking small towns_ and you just shake your head. 

"It's not your fault," she adds and you wonder where she's going with this. 

"I know," you tell her. 

"He's just never been in love like this. Give him some time to adjust."

"I'm fine."

"I just wanted to know if it bothered you, I know you like to be all brooding, quiet redneck," and _there's_ the teasing you expect. 

You _don't_ respond, so she adds, "Did you get embarrassed?"

"Hell no," you scoff. _Embarrassed_? Ha. 

"Angry?"

"No. Told you I was fine."

"Aroused?" Your eyes widen and _you turn to her in disbelief_ as she nods, "Definitely aroused. Did he throw you up against the wall? Have you naked in 3 seconds?"

"Please stop," the red of your face is always her goal, but this is _too much_.

"What? You may not have noticed that I have no sex life. I'm living vicariously through you two." 

You don't know _why you tell her_ , maybe just to see that smirk leave her face, "We just went to sleep. That's all."

She laughs at you, her dark brown eyes gleaming with merriment, "You telling me Rick almost killed someone for touching his man and then the two of you just went home, snuggled up, and went to sleep?"

You nod, "Yep."

She sighs and says under her breath, "Snuggling is not vicarious."

"Maybe it should be."

She grins, "Yeah. Maybe it should be."

For the next 10 minutes, neither of you speak, though she continues to shoot an occasional grin at you, and then Rick steps out, his eyes as _hot on your skin_ as if he hasn't seen you in days, rather than minutes. _You'll never get used to it_. 

"Yeah, so snuggling ain't happening today," Michonne quips and Rick turns a questioning look in her direction, and then you can see it, he doesn't like whatever Monroe told him. 

"Gather the family. All of them. Don't care what they're doing. Our house in 15." 

.....

Seeing them standing around the living room brings home _how few of you_ are left. You've lost _so many_ along the way, some by choice like Carol and Ty, and others to death. Hershel's kindly old face pops in your mind _you miss him_ and you send Beth a little smile. She comes over and nudges her shoulder against yours, _your sweet friend_. Her eyes flick to Rick and she raises her brow at you, slightly smirking. You nod, _knowing she's heard about last night_ , and as she raises a brow again in question, you take her hand, gently squeezing the bird-like bones, and lean down to whisper in her ear, "Epic."

Rick comes to stand in front of the fireplace, and as other conversations drop away, Beth mouths, "I want every detail."

Rick clears his throat, "There's a rival community about 30 miles east of here. They've caused some trouble in the past, but apparently Monroe has a spy there and those rivals are geared up for attack within the next week. They have military vehicles and weapons, and Monroe wants to send a group to meet with them, see if he can work out a trade deal. My question is do we go or do we stay and help them fight?"

"Go where?" Glenn asked. 

"I don't know exactly, but if that's what we want to do, we'll find somewhere. We always do."

You look around your home _the first real home you've ever had_ where you and Rick are _being something that feels like a family_ , and stand, "Fuck that. We stay and fight and only leave if we have to."

Rick looks at you, nods, and holds your eyes as everyone agrees, "Then we fight. Monroe's having me and Daryl over for dinner tonight to discuss this trade deal. I'm pretty sure he's gonna ask me to broker it."

You watch his eyes sweep the room, "As always, we need to be prepared for any outcome. Packed bug out bag for each person by the door. Meeting place that grove we stopped in on the way here. Whoever has Judith at that moment is responsible for getting her there. From Monroe's spy, I think we have some time, but regardless, we stay ready."

......

Later, after everyone has gone, including Judy on Beth's hip, off to a play date, whatever _the fuck that is,_ andthere's only you and Rick left. He sits on the couch and tugs you into his arms, pressing his warm forehead to yours, looking into your eyes, "I'm gonna have to take over. Monroe can't handle combat. He has no idea how to fight these people."

You nod, enjoying his arms around you. You'd follow Rick _anywhere_. 

"You okay with that?"

You're a little confused, "Yeah. I guess?"

"I'm just letting you know you have a say in this."

"I said I wanted to stay," you remind him, twining your fingers into the silk of his hair _those curls_. 

"I know. I'm talking about me taking over leadership."

All this talk. There's Rick, _looking all worried again_ , and you're not even sure why, "You wanna lead, then lead, ain't got shit to do with me." 

He grabs your chin, glaring into your eyes, "It's part of being a couple, Daryl, allowing the other half of you some say in huge decisions."

Again, _this confusing shit_. You don't know what he wants to hear from you _fuck this_ , "I ain't no girl."

Rick's eyes widen, "So you're not," and then he chuckles suddenly. _These mood swings are gonna give you whiplash_ , "so you're not."

His hand cups the semi-hard flesh of your dick and you sigh as he palms you through your jeans, hardening quickly at the feel of his hand _stroking_ you, so you say _exactly what you mean_ , "We gonna fuck or what?" 

 


	6. Idiots Sometimes Get What's Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's perspective, and then Daryl's perspective
> 
> Dinner at Monroe's
> 
> To my readers: Do you think it's too confusing to have both of their 2nd person perspectives in the same chapter? I can write longer chapters that way, but having them on top (ahem) of one another may be too much. Let me know what you think.

**Rick's Perspective**  

It's cold as you and Daryl walk to Monroe's. Though it feels like a little weird to walk these streets without Michonne, the man at your side has your total attention _such an amazing lover_. You're so in awe of that mouth, and as he sends you a little smile, you know he knows what you're thinking.

You should be focused on the upcoming threat to your family and the safe zone _you know this_ but he's turned you into a swooning teenager, "You're gonna let me try it one day."

"Nope. Not happening." 

You just shake your head. Daryl has some set beliefs _stubborn as hell_ about the roles the two of you play in the bedroom. You've been asking him to fuck you _just to try it_ for a week now, but he's adamant that the two of you remain as you are. He _doesn't seem to want you_ _like that_ , but you're so damn curious because of how much he enjoys it. And the possessive side of you wants _to feel him_ to have him in every way imaginable.  

"Wonder why Michonne's not with us?" he changes the subject, and you honestly don't mind, seeing as how you've been _having the best sex of your life_ your curiosity about having more isn't that big of a deal. 

"He sees her as my henchman. And she scares him 'cause of how much she enjoys the kill," and you frown a little because Michonne does seem to _live to kill_ sometimes. 

"And me? How's he see me?"

_And this you won't tell him._

As you stood this morning to leave Monroe's office, "Come to dinner tonight and we'll talk some more. And bring the wife," it had infuriated you, and Monroe instantly corrected himself, "I'm sorry. Daryl. I mean bring Daryl."

"Call him that to his face, he'll beat the shit out of you. And I'll help him," you softly tell Monroe. You know exactly what the other man is doing, _a weaker alpha attempting to undermine a stronger alpha_. And it did get to you, not only because it was meant to be disrespectful, but because Daryl would be mortified. 

So you'd leaned over Monroe's desk, pinning the big man with your eyes, though you wanted to _kill_ his stupid ass, "How about from now on you act like you don't know anything about my personal life?"

Monroe had quickly nodded, and was still apologizing when you left the room. 

To Daryl you say, "A highly valued and skilled hunter." He nods but is eying you under all that hair, he knows you've kept something from him, but he's Daryl and he lets you. 

You sometimes forget how little time Daryl's actually spent inside the safe zone, how little he's had to deal with some of these people and their judgements. You've taken it all in stride because _it doesn't fucking matter._ And your entire family is happy for you _the_ _only ones who matter_. You have yet to swing a fist over a slur, though Michonne has twice _fierce warrior of a woman_ and Beth cussed out some woman in the community laundry mat due to some comments. Carl hasn't said much, other than "forget them and their small minds", and in the end, to lead these people, you know they don't have _to like or approve of your sex life_ , just respect that you can keep them alive. 

And honestly, most people don't seem to care. It's just a few and _you'll handle them_ and keep their ignorance away from Daryl. _Because you'll kill anyone who upsets him._

Monroe's home is smaller that yours, but you have more people, so it makes sense. You _approve_ of a leader who gives more to his people than himself, but Monroe's leadership isn't strong enough for this world. _No weapons inside the safe zone_. 

The door is opened by Monroe's 2nd in command, a beefy guy named Potts, who still carries the faded colors of a black eye _Michonne's mean left hook_. Now you know for sure why Daryl's been invited and not Michonne. Daryl enters first, searching for a spot to rest his crossbow, and you see Potts _smirk_ at Daryl's back. Instantly, you have the bigger man pinned to the wall, your forearm slammed across his throat, "Do. Not. Fuck. With me."

Your knife rests against his stomach _and you don't even know how it got in your hand_. From behind you, "What the fuck, Rick?" Daryl sounds a little confused as to why you're about to gut Potts, but it's also clear he has your back _regardless_. 

Monroe's booming voice, "Gentlemen, come on, everyone settle down, this isn't why we're here. This is about protecting the safe zone."

You let Potts see the murder in your eyes _you still want to kill him_ before backing up and sheathing your knife. He rubs at the soon-to-be bruised flesh of his neck and nods at Monroe before glaring at you. 

You smile, _but it's not a nice one_ , "I think we understand each other now, huh Potts?"

"Perfectly," he says, but you can see the man is going to continue to be a problem, as his eyes _attempt_ to promise you a future beating. _Bring it_ , you tell him back

Daryl stands quietly, still holding his crossbow, when Monroe greets him and suggests he just leave the bow by the door. He nods at Monroe, still eyeing you and Potts, and lifts a brow at you. At your nod, he places it by the door. 

..........

**Daryl's Perspective**

Dinner's strange, what with Rick and Pott's obvious animosity and Monroe's halting explanations of the rival threat. Something in his story of exactly how the two communities became rivals doesn't add up, _but you know Rick'll figure it out_ , so you just listen. Rick's in strategy mode, asking dozens of questions about the other community, numbers, weapons, defenses, weaknesses ... you watch him file away the information in his mind. Later, at home, you know _he'll write this all down_ _in his neat print_ , draw out some maps, and the layout of the rival's "town".  

"They have a no weapons rule, or do their people get to defend themselves?" Rick asks Monroe, and you see Potts stiffen. Whatever he and Rick were upset about earlier still has Pott's back up _you know it was about you_ and he's not going to drop it anytime soon. That the stupid ass thinks he can outdo Rick at _anything_ sort of amuses you, but Rick needs to chill. He thinks you don't know some of the things that have happened while you've been hunting, but Beth always tells you everything. 

Monroe frowns at Rick, "That rule has served us well."

"If they somehow manage to breach the walls, it'll serve no one. Just make our people sitting ducks," and silence greets Rick's point _damn good one_. 

"Too many of them don't even know how to shoot," Monroe finally says. 

"Then we train them," Rick says, as you take another big bite of your venison steak. It's delicious and you want to ask Monroe's mousy little wife _who had silently served the food and disappeared back into the kitchen_ what marinade she used. You glance over at Potts and the man is _staring_ at your mouth, watching you chew. Knowing Rick will kill Potts without a second thought _and for now the safe zone needs the man_ , you impulsively _childishly_ open your mouth wide, showing him the chewed up steak on your tongue. His head jerks back a little, a pleased look in his eyes and _you did not fucking intend that shit_ , but he thankfully looks away a _split second_ before Rick scans the table.

So Potts is one of those, you realize, who hates you because he wants you. It sucks that he read that wrong, and you feel a little foolish _fucking let Rick just kill him next time_. You decide to act like the man doesn't exist _ignoring_ _people is second hat to you_ and you concentrate fully on Rick. 

It's so _obvious_ that Rick is already the leader. Monroe defers to his every thought, even agreeing to give weapon's training to the people who want it. They have a brief discussion about not warning the safe zone of this upcoming threat, but Monroe easily caves to Rick's _better prepared than sorry_. 

Monroe then lays out his plan of a trade agreement, and Rick meets your eyes and you wordlessly say _what an idiot_ at the same time. 

"So your spy says they are preparing to attack and just take all you have, and you think they'll settle for a trade agreement?"

 "I know their leader. He's not a killer, he's just desperate. Their greenhouse failed and their hunters aren't as good as ours," Monroe nods in your direction and you feel a touch of pride in Rick's returning nod of acknowledgement of your skills. Whoever would have thought _anything your dad ever taught you_ would become the thing people admire about you?

"I think it's naive," Rick says, "people just take what they want these days, and the man you knew may not be the same desperate man he is today."

That's when you see Monroe's wife peeking around the kitchen door, she meets your eyes and _she's not mousy at all she's actually very pretty_ , but she's shaking her head at you and _you wonder what that's all about_. You only hold her eyes for a second because you don't want Monroe to notice, but as she quietly shuffles in to pick up the dinner plates, you hop up to help. 

"Bonnie doesn't need help," Monroe protests, "sit down, Daryl."

"My momma would turn over in her grave," you lie, picking up your and Rick's plates. Your momma had been the sloppiest housekeeper ever.  You feel Pott's eyes on you _man has a death wish_ as you follow Bonnie into the kitchen. 

She takes the plates from you, leaning close to whisper, "I feel like I know you because I've become friends with Beth."

"Speak your mind," you tell her.

"Even though my husband loves his brother, even after all he's done, tell Rick that Tom Monroe is a piece of shit. Douglas hopes to use the Dynamic Duo's strength to scare off Tom, but you can't reason with a crazy man. This trade deal is a horrible idea."

You barely have time to process what she's said before crashes and yells come from the dining room. _Damn Potts_.

The table is on its side and Rick is straddling Potts and beating the _holy fuck_ out of the man. Monroe is gesturing wildly at you, yelling, "Do something!"

You _could give a shit_ about Potts, but Rick's poor knuckles are covered in blood and he can't break a hand, _not now_. You get behind him and wrap your arms around his stomach and manhandle him away. He's still punching the air and trying to twist away from you, _but you're not letting him get away_. As Bonnie and Monroe lean down to examine Potts, Rick's energy drains away and you tell them, "Dinner was wonderful, Bonnie, you'll have to share that marinade with me sometime."

By the door, you put Rick down on his feet, keeping one arm tight around his waist as you grab your bow with your other. 

"Sure, I'll write it down. Thanks for coming over," she sends you a smile, and the ridiculous of the exchange doesn't escape your notice.

Pott's ignorant ass tries to get up like _he's gonna come back at Rick_ and Monroe shoves him back down. The man's face looks like hamburger meat. This shit has gotten out of hand. _Rick can't fight the whole damn world_. 

Outside Monroe's house, you turn Rick to face you, taking the stubble of his cheeks into your hands, "I can take care of myself, you know."

His eyes are burning blue orbs, "You think I don't fucking know that?"

You watch him for a minute, a bit unnerved by the anger in his voice, _but it's not you he's mad at_ , so you nod, "Come on. Let's get home and let Beth have a look at your knuckles."

 ..........

Hours later, the house is shut down, Judy and Carl are already asleep, and Rick is still furiously scribbling away. It's amazing, the amount of intel he gained _by just questioning Monroe_. You shared Bonnie's words with everyone as Beth had wrapped Rick's hand, and Rick had nodded, "Thought it might be something like that."

He hasn't _once met your eyes_ since leaving Monroe's and surely he's written and drawn every possible detail gleaned during dinner. 

"Let's go to bed," you tell him, but he doesn't even _look_ up, "Rick!"

"Go on without me."

"Fuck that. Won't be able to sleep, can't anymore unless you're there," you hate this vulnerable feeling, _telling him stuff like that,_ but it works, he sets down his pencil, and follows you up the stairs. 

The two of you quietly wash your faces and brush your teeth, _like some old, married couple_. As you both strip and climb into bed, he scoots more to the side than in the middle where he _normally_ sleeps, and for a moment, insecurity claws at you. Pott's destroyed face flashes across your mind, and then Adam's look of terror, _and just like that_ , you are smiling. 

"Ain't getting away with that," you tell him, resting your head on his chest, your arm across his stomach, and your leg over his.

After a minute, his hand _makes its way_ to your hair, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Pott's had it coming. You can't keep doing that, though."

"I've never been jealous before. I already hate him, but he was looking at your ass, and something just snapped in me."

"Look, he's an idiot. And his eyes don't hurt me."

"I know," he says, "and I know you can take care of yourself."

You listen to his heartbeat, _nuzzling_ your cheek against him, "No ones ever been jealous of me before. I like it. But I like you having use of your hands, too."

A surprised chuckle rumbles his chest and you lean up to meet his eyes, "How in the world can you like it?"

"It feels good," you tell him, reaching down to cup his quickly hardening flesh, "and it's sexy as hell when you get that look on your face."

"You're crazy," he says. 

"Yep. And so are you."

He groans as you start kissing down his chest, and his fingers pulling at your hair, but you don't tease him tonight, you immediately suck the hardness of him straight into your mouth, "Daryl," he breathes, saying your name _like a prayer_. You do go slowly, _you don't want him to come yet_ , you want him inside of you. 

After a minute, he's tugging away from your mouth and reaching into the nightstand, and then he's spreading lubricant inside you. You know he wants to try other positions, but there are  _too_ _many bad memories and you can't just yet,_ so he lifts your legs to his shoulders and slowly starts to _enter_ your body. And this, this burn, this pain is _part of why you'll never fuck him_. If he understood the pain, not just now, but the aftermath, how it sometimes hurts to walk, he'd never do this again. And this, this possession, is _so beautiful to you_ that _you can't ever let him know_. Normally he's so careful with your body, but sometimes you have to remind him. 

The pleasure starts to spread, _to glow_ through you _it's worth any discomfort_ and you pant up at him, more in love than ever. 

 

 

 


	7. Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's perspective, then Daryl's. Fortifying the safe zone

**Rick's Perspective**

 

The next few days are a _blur_ of plans and training. The morning after the dinner at Monroe's, you had met with the man _by_ _yourselves this time_ and as you informed him you were taking over leadership of safe zone,  _relief_ spread across his face.

You'd discussed his brother, and Monroe requested that Joe be allowed to live, if possible. Considering his brother was about to lead an attack against the safe zone, _you doubted that would be possible_ , so you'd only promised to try. And you'd warned the man that he _couldn't_ keep stuff like that from you.

"You're a much better choice than me to handle this situation, but I'm hoping you'll utilize my counsel, Rick," he'd told you, and you'd nodded. Monroe wasn't a bad leader, and as far as the community aspect of the safe zone, the organization of taking care of the needs of so many people, _Monroe had done an excellent job_. 

"How about we word it like this? I'll take over the safety and security and you'll continue to handle the communal aspects, the day to day stuff?" you'd offered and Monroe had loved the idea, nodding in agreement, "You'll be the unofficial mayor and I'll be in charge of security? I'll let you run your sides of things and you let me run mine?"

The two of you had hashed out the details, _you did respect what the man had created here,_ and as you'd started to exit, he'd asked if he could speak frankly. 

"Your family has been a godsend in so many ways. All of you have become valuable members of the safe zone. And I trust you to keep us safe, but..." the big man paused, glancing nervously away from your eyes, "you have an Achilles' heel, Rick, and you're going have to figure out some way to handle it, whatever triggers your rage, differently."

Daryl. _Like you didn't know that._ So you simply held his gaze, tamping down the trickles of anger his words sent through you, "I know. I'll get control of it."

"Potts has agreed to let it go, but you need to, too," and you'd nodded. _You'd do your damn best_. 

That same morning Monroe called a community meeting, and it was _strange_ to see all 87 members of the safe zone in one place. Michonne stood by your side _your right hand_ as Daryl stood with the hunters. Monroe gave a little speech, simply announcing the changes in the power structure and then outlining the threat facing the safe zone and  _you'd wanted to roll your eyes at the_   _gasps from the naive_ , then he'd gestured to you.  As one, you and Michonne had stepped onto the platform, and her eyes clearly stated _you've got this, Rick_. 

You'd looked around the room, meeting as many eyes as you could, your family, your new people, the hunters, and Daryl had sent you a little nod _his confidence in you unshakable_ , "I've gotten to know some of you in the time my family has been here, but all of you are my people now. My only goal is keeping every single one of you alive. My family has faced threats before, and we've learned from them. The safe zone has provided many of you with a false sense of security, and some necessary skills must be learned."

"We are safe here!" an older woman in the crowd had yelled out. 

"No," you had told her, "No, you're not. When someone wants what is yours, you're never safe. A desperate group, starving, coveting your food and your weapons, will kill everyone to take what their people need. A large enough walker herd could do serious damage to the walls. A highly contagious illness could sweep through the safe zone, knocking out half our numbers. Safety doesn't exist anymore, not in this world. Of course, we are safer here than out there, but we still aren't safe. If there's a loud battle, we'll be dealing with a mass of walkers in the aftermath, after the human attack."

Michonne stepped closer to you and at the request in her eyes, you'd nodded. Her question filled the hall, "How many of you have never killed a walker?" Hands, some grudgingly, started lifting, until almost half of the assembled were holding up their hands.

Her point was acknowledged, worked better than the arguments you'd planned, and after that, everyone seemed to be on board and you'd started organizing teams. Monroe already had a single look-out stationed around the enemy town, but you'd assigned another to join him _because hell, one man couldn't be on watch all the time_. Knowing that you'd have some warning before the fight arrived gave you a _bit_ more confidence. 

Now, today, three days into your new leadership role, you are _pleased_ with all that's been accomplished. The safe zone and its people may not be truly prepared for the upcoming attack, but as a whole, preparedness is _100 times better_ than before you took over. 

Around the perimeter of the safe zone, Daryl searches out potential weak spots, and now he and crews of men work non-stop at securing defenses. Weapons training is happening in earnest, mainly hand-to-hand combat, but you are happy at how many want to learn. Maggie and Carl work with the younger kids, while Glenn and Michonne are busy teaching everyone else. 

For now, your entire family is staying with you. Glenn and Maggie in Daryl's old room, and Beth and Michonne sharing the pull-out couch in the living room. You'll do _whatever_ it takes to keep them alive. Though you like _even respect_  some of the people of the community, _your family comes first_ , always. 

Everyone is working _until they're exhausted_ , and grabbing sleep whenever they can, and it's been _two days_ since you last slept beside Daryl, since _either_ you've last slept, so you take Judy from Beth and send her to go fetch him. Beth is a _force of nature_ when she wants to be, and you know she'll have better luck than you. 

The baby appears to have missed you, and you cuddle her against your chest, _breathing_ _deeply of the sweet scent of your daughte_ r. She babbles happily, no clue about threats or walkers, and you'll do anything to keep her safe. _To protect her innocence_. 

You hold her up in the air, her laughter making you grin, "Da da!" 

..........

**Daryl's Perspective**

You're so damn tired, but there's still _more work to be done_ , so when Beth walks up and tells you Rick wants you home for a little rest, you start to protest, listing the things you needed done _yesterday_.  

She rests a brightly-mittened hand on your frozen cheek, "Sure, I'll go back and tell him that and then he'll come get you himself, wasting a good 30 minutes you could both be resting."

You acknowledge her reasoning with a little smile, "Fine." The hunters working beside you seem relieved that you're _finally_ taking a break  so you set down your hammer and unhook the nail bag from your belt loop.

"Exhausted men aren't much good in a fight," she reassures you when you glance longingly back at the section of wall you've been working on, "if you won't rest for you, do it for him."

Beth has such a special place _in your heart_ , and you give her a half-hug as you head back to the house, your arm around her slim shoulders. Though it may seem bizarre to some that your best friend is a girl half your age, the two of you have gone through _a lot together_ and she knows more about you than even Rick, and _she loves you anyway_.

"What's this I hear about Nathan?" you ask, and you impulsively kiss her forehead as she blushes, you _adore_ this girl.  

"I don't know. He's sweet, but it's not really the time to be thinking about that stuff."

"Not what you said about me and Rick."

"You and Rick were miserable, all that pining away for each other, those longing looks, consumed with sexual frustration, I gotta tell you, it was exhausting me," she laughs, "whereas this thing with Nathan is just an idea. No hot sex in a guard tower constantly tugging at our memories, torturing us."

You gently shove her from your side in protest, only to tug her back, "When this all settles down though?"

She shrugs and shoots you a huge grin. You'll have to keep a closer eye on this Nathan, make sure he's _worthy_ of her, and _understands_ the ass whipping he'll get if he hurts her. 

The two of you pass Potts and a couple of Monroe's perimeter guards, and the man's face still resembles raw hamburger. He doesn't look at you, so you and Beth ignore him too, but after he passes, you can feel his eyes on you, and briefly glance back to see that _yep, he's staring hard at you_. 

Beth follows your eyes and you both sigh, so you ask, "Nobody ever wanted me before. Why now when I'm obviously with Rick?"

"It's like Jimmy," she says, "He was always just this nerdy farm boy that no girl ever looked at, but as soon as we started dating, suddenly girls were flirting with him. Daddy told me that being a couple makes you interesting. Either they want what you've got or they just don't want you to have it."

"That's just stupid."

Beth nods in agreement as you reach your house _your home_. Inside Rick is tickling a giggling Judith and you pause to watch them. Such a good father. _Such a gorgeous man_. Beth is focused, though, and moves to take Judy as Rick's tired eyes meet yours, glowing with love _and promises_ and you're almost _instantly_ hard.  

"Uh huh. None of that. Hot showers for the both of you. Judy and I will bring you some plates, then you eat and then you sleep," Beth sounds like a general, and you and Rick obey, barely pecking your lips together before heading off to shower, _separately for once_. The shower is amazing, and though you've stopped scrubbing your skin raw, the habit is _an old one, and hard to break._ The first time Rick saw you clean yourself, he'd _freaked_ out, so you try to be a bit softer with the washcloth these days.  

He's waiting for you on your bed, _tired blue eyes loving you_ , a big bowl of stew steaming in his lap. There's another waiting for you, and though it's delicious, you're suddenly so sleepy, _you barely have the strength_ to set the bowl aside and snuggle against him before you're sound asleep. 

Hours later, you awake to _mind-blowing pleasure_. Rick has your dick deep in his throat, his _hot wet_ mouth stroking _that clever tongue finding every sensitive spot_. Popping you out of his mouth, his hand slickly works over you and he _mouths and licks_ at your balls. He spreads your legs widely, and his tongue licks your asshole and for a split second _it feels so good_ you almost let him _but fucking memories never leave you alone_  and you're shoving him away with so much force that he falls from the bed, landing on the floor. 

"What the fuck, Daryl?" he demands and you reach in the nightstand with shaking hands and pull out the lube, tossing it at him. It bounces off his chest and he looks down at it _before those blue eyes are searching your face._

"That is what I want," you inform him, pointing at the lubricant, but you can tell from his expression that you've killed the moment and _fuck it all_ you get up and jerk open your dresser drawer, slipping a t-shirt over your head as you feel him stand up behind you. 

"Hey, come here," he says _but you're so ashamed at how fucked up you are_ that you ignore him, jerking open the next drawer for a pair of pants.

"Please stop," he says, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you back against him, "we'll just let this go, okay, don't be mad at me. You don't have to tell me anything, explain anything, we just let it go."

 _How well does he know you_ that this is probably the _only thing_ he could have said to have you _spinning in his arms_ to hug him tightly. 

"Come on," he says, "just lay with me before we have to get back to work and only see one another from a distance," he pulls the shirt back off of you and tugs you to the bed. As you settle on top of him, your head on his chest, he repeatedly presses his lips into your hair, _kissing the top of your head like you're Judith or something_.

You start to tell him you're sorry, but he says, "You are in charge here. We only do what you want to do, what you're comfortable with from now on, okay?"

The love in you _feels tight behind your skin_  is so enormous that as you lean back to meet his eyes, he blinks rapidly and you know _he's seen it_. You lean down to gently kiss that mouth, a gentle pressing of lips, slowly slipping your tongue just inside, and he seems _hesitant to respond_ , so against his mouth, you whisper, "Ain't made of glass."

"I know," he says, "but you're mine, and if I want to be gentle with you, I will."

You want to force the issue, and have some mind-numbing sex, but as he gently massages your neck and shoulders, _occasionally pressing a kiss to the top of your head_ , you drift back into sleep. 

......

An hour later, someone is _pounding_ at the downstairs door, and as you and Rick quickly dress, Beth yells up the stairs, "The other town is on its way here. We've got an hour, tops."

 

 

 


	8. Berserker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle and the aftermath.

**Rick's Perspective**

You are waiting when they arrive, 3 armored trucks ready to storm your walls, followed closely by 5 cars. A big man steps out, it has to be Joe Monroe  _the resemblance to his brother is striking_ and he walks around to climb into the back of the truck, stands, and yells out, "Douglas! Surrender the safe zone and no one has to die! All of you can just walk away, leaving all of your stuff, of course."

You are reminded of the governor _never again_ _will someone destroy your home_ and you stand on your side of the wall, "Douglas is no longer in charge. I am."

His gaze finds you, "And who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Rick Grimes and I'm now in charge of the security of the safe zone. You need to turn around and head back where you came from. You will not get the safe zone."

"Rick Grimes?" Joe asks, and then laughs, slapping his leg, "Where's the black woman, Michonne? I hear you two are major badasses! A fucking dynamic duo!"

"Got yourself a spy here, Joe?"

"Well hell yeah, several of them, these were once my people."

"Not anymore. These are my people now. We'll fight you and we'll win. Or you could turn those trucks around and head back to your town. Your choice."

Joe leans down to speak to someone and you quickly glance down your wall. Michonne's about 20 yards to your right, and Daryl is further down, standing with the hunters, all holding rifles trained through the ports in the wall.  

"Where's your boyfriend Rick? I couldn't believe when I found out Douglas had put a faggot in charge. Seeing is believing, I guess," he laughs again, tossing back his head, and his words bounce away, not bothering you in the slightest. It's clear to you that Joe's completely crazy, _it's in his eyes and movements_.  

"If you're going to fight us, Joe, just bring it already."

One of the trucks comes flying at the wall, and bullets start to fly, _your people are doing the best they can t_ o take out that truck before impact. And Joe grins crazily at you, eyes shining with insanity, and you see _something_ in his hands. Realization strikes, and as his arm tosses back and launches the grenade _straight over the wall where Daryl stands,_ you scream _NO_! And you shoot Joe _over and over_ in the chest. Time almost stops and in super slow motion you watch Joe's body jerk repeatedly and then tumble from the truck bed, you see the grenade fly through the air, Daryl taking two large steps and diving sideways and then a fireball consumes him and  _he's gone from your sight._  

You heart stops for a split second _maybe_   _you die_ and then your heart restarts _pumping ice water_ through your veins _your rage consumes you and_   _every fucking body must die_. You hop over the wall, leave your covered position, and stride straight into the enemy, ignoring the bullets that graze your ear and sting your side and _you shoot men, women, teen boys no older than Carl_ every person you see _killing killing killing_. You stop to reload and your arm jerks _pleasant numbness_ , you have no idea how many times you've been shot _and you don't care_  you continue to shoot _every damn one must die_ and even after everyone _is_ dead, some never even getting out of their cars, you empty your python into their dead bodies _but not their heads_. When your last bullet is gone, you reach for the red machete, glaring up at the sky.  _FUCK YOU! you scream at the heavens,_ and you scream until your voice is gone. Then the moaning of the dead fills your ears _the putrid stink_ of a small herd, excited by the noise, surrounding you. _Kick chop shove chop_ blood coats you and you become aware of Michonne's sword joining the fray and your _right hand is_ at your back. As the last walker falls, you sway, and Michonne's strong arms catch you, lowering you to _the blood-soaked ground_. 

Her dark brown eyes are _wide and terrified_ and you try to tell her, "I can't live without him," but your voice is gone. She's saying something, but blessed blackness darkens your vision and then consumes you...

...........

**Daryl's Perspective**

Rick's been unconscious for an entire day and _you're so scared_ you can't leave his side. Beth and Nathan, a former army medic, the one who helped her _remove the bullets_  from Rick's flesh, tell you his body just needs to heal, that his mind is protecting his wounds. _Just be patient, they say._

As you lay beside him, repeatedly twining one of his curls around your finger, you promise him _anything if he'll just wake up_. You tell him he can lick you wherever he wants, that you'll fuck him, that he can have you from behind, that _you'll fucking dress up in pink panties and call him daddy if he wants you to._

Monroe visits and you stare at him with blank eyes as _he praises Rick's bravery_. Everyone, _except for your family_ , thinks Rick went berserker because the safe zone was under attack. According to Beth, the tiny portion who didn't believe he was somehow _supernatural_ as part of the Dynamic Duo believe it now. His striding into the enemy, as bullet after bullet hit him, _was the stuff of hero worship_.

Monroe's eyes had gleamed at you, _echoing_ that sentiment. But you know what really happened, Rick thought _you were dead_ and rage mode consumed him. "That's why," Beth tells you for the 100th time, "you have to keep talking to him. He has to hear your voice. It'll bring him back."

So here you are talking away. For hours you tell him about hunting and tracking, the things you'd learned from your daddy or Merle, but also about all the things you'd learned on your own, _through trial and error_. You tell him how to rebuild a motorcycle engine and how to build a shelving unit, and you give him detailed instructions on how to keep 3 baby raccoons alive until you can release them into the wild.

At one point, Beth brings you a copy of The Scarlet Letter, and three chapters in _you realize you aren't just reading for him._ Poor Hester, alone with her misery, tugs at your heart. Yeah, you stop multiple times a page to consult the dictionary _that Beth also brought,_ but most of the words you figure out.

And the hours pass, you examine his wounds, and Beth _fusses_ at you to stop changing the bandages, but there are so many that  _you try to force them to heal_ with your eyes. 8 times, _who the fuck gets shot 8 times and keeps going_? 5 of the wounds are where bullets just grazed him, carving out chunks of his flesh, but the ones in his arm, shoulder, and hip worry you. 

 _Thousands of times_ , you kiss his cheek, his neck, his unmarked shoulder. You run your fingers over his eyes, across his cheekbones, down the slope of his nose, across the beauty of his lips. 

During certain points of your watch, you _fuss_ at him, "What the fuck were you thinking? Even if I was dead, Carl and Judith still need you. Beth needs you. Maggie and Glenn, them too, and Michonne may finally walk the line without you. You're a selfish bastard."

Other times you tell him, "The only reason I'm alive is that you warned me. Your eyes told me to jump." Two of your hunters, and three other men weren't so lucky, _but you can't think_ about them now. 

Michonne comes to brief you, earlier she sent a small team to Joe's town, and several elderly people and small children were brought back to the safe zone. The wall is being repaired and as walkers arrive, they are being dealt with. Monroe is trying to search out Joe's spy. 

"Rick's a tough old bastard," she tells you, as she leans down to rub her hand over his hair, "he's going to be fine."

Carl comes to sit with Rick _and though you hate leaving him_ you go shower and stay with Judy so Beth can get a little rest. The baby has no clue her father lays unconscious, and you hug her to your chest, "He's gonna make it," you say, but as the hours pass and he doesn't wake up, you start to second guess yourself.

What will you do if he doesn't live? _How miserable will your life become_? 

................

**Rick's Perspective**

Your first thought is your shoulder, _it's on fucking fire_ , but damn, your hip hurts, too. There are streaks of fiery pain everywhere _and the vague memory_ of getting shot over and over flashes in your wakening mind. You can hear Daryl saying something, but his words sound _so strange_...

"She had wandered, without rule or guidance, into a moral wilderness. Her intellect and heart had their home, as it were, in desert places, where she roamed as freely as the wild Indian in his woods. The scarlet letter was her passport into regions where other women dared not tread. Shame, Despair, Solitude! These had been her teachers - stern and wild ones - and they had made her strong, but taught her much amiss."

Daryl sighs after this _whatever the hell he's talking about_ and as you slowly open your eyes, you see _his tired eyes_ are unfocused and staring up at nothing and _he's clutching a book to his chest_. Softly he says, "I understand that, Hester, I get it," and he opens the book back up, trailing a finger down the page to find his spot, "but you're gonna make it, girl, you're strong, and Pearl needs you."

His eyes flick to you, find yours looking back, and a huge _grin_ splits his face, "You're awake!"

"I think so," you try to say, but the _rawness of your throat_ turns the sound into a whisper. He grabs a glass of water and holds it to your lips and you sip slowly, watching those blue eyes shining a mixture of _love and relief_ at you. 

"Don't move," he says, and then he yells, "Beth! Beth! He's awake!" He turns back to you, _glaring now_ , "You ever scare me like that again, I'll kick your ass." 

Beth's sweet face appears, handing Judith to Daryl. She takes your pulse, listens to your heart, shines a pin light into your eyes, then she leans close to your ear, telling you, "Rick Grimes, if you ever do anything like that again, I'll kick your ass."

Carl kneels next, _gently_ hugging an arm across your chest, and he whispers to you, "I can't lose you, dad, you can't ever do that again, other people would have helped, you didn't have to do it all by yourself. If you even think of doing something like that again, I'll kick your ass."

Maggie and Glenn come in, smiling in relief to see you awake, but also quietly promise you ass kickings, and then Michonne, who promises  _to stab your ass_ with her katana. Everyone seems to want you to apologize. 

All in all, despite the pain, you feel _really loved_ , and as everyone leaves except for Daryl, you tell him, "I thought you were dead."  

And in the end, _that's all the apology you have_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, a month will have passed. I can't have one of our main characters stuck healing. Be patient, there's so much to come. :) I'm not completely happy with the battle scene, but I want to move on to other parts of the story. As always, please share your thoughts, I LOVE hearing from readers.
> 
> The quote is from Nathaniel Hawthorne's novel The Scarlet Letter.


	9. Ah, Sweet Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promises made and promises kept. Pure smut and fluff. Enjoy, my sweets.

**Rick's Perspective**

Even a month later your shoulder still pains you and you really just want to feel 100% again. The bullet wounds on your arm and hip have mainly healed, _but this damn shoulder_. 

"Let me look at it," Daryl says, concern squinting his eyes as he wakes up beside you. You grin at him, it is so funny to you how Daryl switches from telling you to _man up, stop being such a weakling_ to a completely loving mother hen _kissing your wounds and fussing when you overdo it_. 

"It's fine," you tell him, rolling your shoulder. 

"Take a painkiller," he urges, and interrupts as you start to protest, "Or deal with it. Just quit your bitching."

Dawn's barely breaking the sky, and the soft hint of early morning light caresses Daryl's features. Considering how much time he's spent in bed with you over the last month, he _should_ look rested, but you've grown to realize that _life carved that look_ of exhaustion into his eyes _long before_ you met him. 

"I actually feel great this morning, and it's a good thing because I'm so tired of the greenhouse. I'm going to check out the fortifications and see if there's anything I can do there."

"No you're not," he glares at you, "that's nothing but lifting."

"I'm not going to help, I'm going to examine the walls and see if I can come up with some more ideas."

He leans over to kiss you and you grab the back of his neck, _and as always_ , those strong cords of muscle feel _amazing_ under your fingers. 

"None of that," he says against your mouth and you groan. Other than simple kissing, you and Daryl haven't been together as lovers since you were injured, _and not for lack of trying on your part_. 

"Dammit Daryl, I'm healed. You said a month and today is exactly one month."

"Yeah, but you woke up focused on the shoulder, not your dick."

You kiss your way across his jawline, and nip his earlobe, "It's completely awake now," you whisper huskily in his ear. He shivers, _as was your intent_ , so you continue to lick _mmmmmm_ and nip his earlobe, "I need to feel you, I need you so bad."

You turn back to his lips, _and yes, he's caving_ because his tongue meets yours instantly, but then he's pulling away and you're _going to explode_ if he doesn't let you fuck him. 

He scoots away from you, "I've got to tell you something," and he sounds so serious, tucks his chin and isn't meeting your eyes.  You  _push away_ your frustration and give him your attention as he haltingly says, "I made you some promises when you were unconscious."  

"What did you promise?"

"It's just..." he hedges and you see a blush rise to his cheeks. Oh, you _have to know_ now.

"It's just what?"

"Well, that I'd let you have me in different positions," he says hesitantly, _and you can't help but grin_. 

"And? What other promises did you make?" You should probably drop it and _take this offering_ , but you're completely intrigued.

He chews his thumb and eyes you under his hair, "I said I'd fuck you."

A wave of desire hits you, and yes, _this is the promise you wanted the most_ , but his head is still down and you know he's not finished confessing. You poke him in the stomach, "What else?"

The words _rush out of him_ with barely a pause between, "I said you can lick me however you want and that I'd ..." his words mumble away.

"What's that?" you encourage, so aroused by his words that you may come without even touching him.

His chin rests flat on his chest, "I didn't mean it and I'll kill you if you even think about making me keep it. But I said... I said I'd dress up in pink panties and call you daddy if you want me to."

Your mouth falls _open in shock_ , and a choked laugh barks out of you, though the image in your mind of Daryl, a pair of pink panties stretched across his perfect ass, _is shockingly erotic to you_. It's surprising because you've always been attracted to how _manly_ he is.

"But that ain't ever happening."

"But you promised," you tease him, grinning, "now I want to see that more than anything."

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

"You'll look so cute..." you start, then his mouth shuts you up and and you forget why you're smiling because his tongue feels _amazing_ twining with yours and the kiss is so hot and wet. 

You pull him fully on top of you, his weight making you _groan in pleasure_ , and the skin to skin contact down the length of your bodies is _heaven_. You grab the muscled orbs of his ass and _grind_ your hardness against his. Yeah, there's a slight twinge in your hip, but at his questioning look you tell him, "I can't even feel it, now keep your promise and fuck me."

He looks concerned, "Let's not do that, choose a different one, get behind me."

"Nope. They are my promises and unless you've got some pink panties hidden somewhere in this room, I want you to fuck me. I've been wanting it for a long time, you know that."

He looks so unsure of himself, and _not nearly_ as aroused as you are by the idea, and suddenly _hurt_ flashes through you, a pain worse than _any_ bullet, "I get it. I get it, Daryl. It's okay that you don't want me like that." 

Blue eyes _fly_ to yours, "Oh god no, Rick, that's not it. Fucking you is my number one fantasy."

You sigh, the pain _unknotting from your chest_ , and you puzzle up at him, "Then what's the problem?"

"It's gonna hurt you," and his _sweetness_ brings back your smile. 

"I know that," you start saying. 

"No, you don't. My first time almost killed me. It was horrible. The pain, all during it and then for days afterward, I can't do that to you."

 _You hug him to you_ , and whisper in his hair, "But I don't think you were willing your first time. I am. I'm begging for it."

..........

**Daryl's Perspective**

You hate you opened your big mouth, but a superstitious part of you believes _you had to tell him_. That _not telling_ him your promises would somehow _jinx_ his recovery. You know it's silly, but you're glad, even if you're _freaking out_ about what he's begging you do. 

"You say you want it. I definitely want it. Please Daryl," he's looking up at you, the man you love _more than your own life_ , begging you to fuck him, and even though you're worried, _you want this, too_. 

You maneuver him onto his side, his bad hip pointing up, and caress his _gorgeous_ ass. Rick's pants are always so baggy that before you actually saw him naked, you had no clue how _adorable_ his butt would be. You start massaging the muscles, and he's breathing harshly, and then he bends his knee, _allowing you access_. You reach behind you, grabbing the lubricant, and then gently stroke a finger across _the tight, little puckered hole_.  

"God yes, do it, Daryl," he pants, and _you very slowly and carefully_ insert your finger, barely wiggling, and he says, "Come on, you aren't going to hurt me."

But you are, and you're _resigned_ to it now, and damn if his ass doesn't feel _just as amazing_ as you knew it would. Slowly you work in a second finger, whispering, "You okay?"

"Fuck yeah, more!" he's a little too loud and you shush him, though if he wakes Judith, you will have a reason to stop. Truthfully, you don't _want_ to stop anymore, you want _to possess him as he possesses you_. 

You become more vigorous and his _panting_ becomes harsher, though between the two of you, loud breathing _fills_ the room. 

"Damn Daryl, now, do it now," and your arousal heightens as you remove your fingers and _slip between_ those perfect ass cheeks. You nudge the tip of yourself _inside him_ as he backs up hard, pushing you in much further than you planned. 

"You're not going to break me," he whispers over his shoulder and _the liquid heat of blue eyes_ surges a rush of desire through you and you swiftly _claim him_ , and three strokes of your hips later, you are _completely lost in_ the tight heat of his body. 

"Fuck," he pants, his body tightening around you and you whisper, "You have to relax. Just roll with it."

"Just fuck me already," he says, so you do, wondering _how in the hell_ you'll last long enough to give him any pleasure. His ass is the _most amazing thing_ you've ever felt in your life, and as he relaxes, you begin slowly pumping in and out of him. 

"Oh my god," he whispers, his voice almost completely _undone_ with pleasure, "There. Oh my god," and he's wiggling _back against you_ , and that movement of his hips combined with the tight pleasure of _fucking into him_ almost drags you into orgasm.

"You gotta be still, Rick, I need to keep hitting that spot, but I won't last if you don't be still," your voice is _so strange_ , and you angle your hips in the exact same way as he _moans_ in pleasure. Your mouth latches onto the _silken skin_ over his back, and you lick and nibble wherever you can reach, wrapping an arm over his waist and caressing the _ridged muscles_ of his abdomen. And you fuck into him over and over, concentrating on stroking his prostate, and he starts making a high-pitched _whining_ noise, "Bury your face in the pillow."

He does, but you can still hear the _maddeningly arousing sound_ , and as you feel the nonstop force of your orgasm start to _consume your body_ , you reach a hand around and _grasp his dick_ , pumping it roughly as you fuck into him. Just as his body _clenches_ wildly around you, you explode in the most _mind-blowing orgasm of your life_. 

You stroke into him a few more times, guiding him through the aftershocks, and you don't leave his body, continuing to _lick and nibble_ at the skin and lean muscles of his back. 

"That was amazing," he whispers, "Do it again."


	10. Hush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure fluff and a tiny amount of smut. Rick's not ready to be a hero.

**Rick's Perspective**

You don't really feel it when you walk, but _you know better_ than to sit down when Monroe offers you a chair, especially that _uncomfortable_ looking metal fold-out. Daryl is eyeing you, _concern clear on his face_ , and he's gnawing at his thumbnail.

"I'm good. Been laid up long enough," you tell Monroe. You aren't really in pain, you're _sore more than anything_ , and considering your shoulder aches and consumes most of your mind's capacity to focus on pain, _your ass_ is superficial. Monroe offers you a drink, and as he leaves the room, you turn to Daryl.

"How long?"

He frowns at you, lips pursed, "A day or two."

You wink at him and _run your eyes up and down_ the lanky length of his body, "Good."

"Stop," he says, but his eyes are suddenly  _full of desire_ , sparking your own. This morning had been everything you'd thought it would be _and more_.

A day or two. You are smiling back at him, enjoying that look he's giving you _that one you've_ _never really seen outside_ of when the two of you are completely alone and about to have sex ... _then the thought_ strikes you that sometimes you've _had him 2 or 3 times a day, or even 30 minutes later_. Your eyes harden in a question and he reads you instantly.

"Always wanted it," he says, but as Monroe enters the room, you send Daryl a look that you're not _finished discussing this_.

"So good to see you healthy again, Rick," Monroe says, handing you a glass of Bonnie's sweet tea. You know it tastes just your mom used to make, and normally you sip Bonnie's brew happily, but today it's tasteless _with the realization_ _that you may have been hurting Daryl_ running through your head.

Monroe has a half a dozen little notebooks _full_ of neatly penned notes and columns of numbers. All of the day to day operations of the safe zone. Supplies, work schedules, crop rotations for the green house... you nod _this is Monroe's forte_ , and your belief in his capability only grows as he lays out the numbers for next month and even for the spring. When you offered him the role of unofficial mayor, you'd had in your mind a type of dual leadership, but _it's obvious now_ that Monroe has decided to _completely defer to you_ , it's in the way his eyes seek _approval_ of every column, every notation.

Beside you, Daryl is getting twitchy, _and so are you,_ so you hold your hand out to Monroe. "You've got this, Douglas. I have complete trust in your ability to run these aspects of the safe zone. Don't feel like you have to run everything by me, I know you're doing your job, and I'm thankful for it," you tell him.

His handshake _lingers too long_ , and his thumb is stroking your hand, but it's not sexual at all _it's almost worshipful_ , "Thanks Rick, you don't know how much you mean to everyone here, how much people appreciate..."

You interrupt this drivel, "Thanks, and tell Bonnie thanks for the tea," you say, nod, and follow Daryl's heels _the fuck out of there._

Outside you lean against the railing of Monroe's porch, taking some steadying breaths. Daryl's hand touches the back of your neck, "I hope everyone doesn't want to touch on you like that."

Hearing a hint of unnerve, maybe even jealousy, in his tone makes you smile, and allows you to _release_ that feeing of unrest Monroe's attitude made you feel, "I feel like I should tell them the truth. I lost my mind because I thought you were dead."

"Doesn't matter why. You protected everyone in the end. You're just gonna have to deal with it."

As the two of you walk the perimeter, people _wave and beam smiles_ at you. It's making you very uncomfortable, and giving you some weird urges to do something bad, _something to shock them._ You glance at Daryl in contemplation, imagining the looks you'd get if you wrapped him in your arms and kissed the shit out of him.

"Don't even think about it," Daryl whispers beside you, edging away. 

"About what?" you are _smiling again_ because he reads you so well.

The perimeter walls look _stronger_ than ever, and reinforcements are still being added. Your goal is to eventually have the walls so _high and deep_ that that you can stand off military vehicles like Joe Monroe's armored trucks.  Around lunch, you are tired and sweaty from all the _exertion_ , so when Daryl demands it's time to eat and rest, you don't protest. 

Though Maggie and Glenn have a small house close by, Beth has moved in with you and Daryl, taking Daryl's old room. And Michonne spends so many nights on your couch that _she might as well_ move in, too. As you enter the kitchen, _the smell of Beth's baked bread hitting your nose_ , Michonne and Carl are finishing lunch and heading off to sword practice. You've watched her teach Carl many times now, and your son's skills with the katana are _growing_. He's fast on his feet and Michonne is an awesome teacher. 

As they leave, laughing about how they are going to _take each other down_ in practice, you kiss Judy's forehead and run a thumb over Beth's cheek, "Smells wonderful in here. If you don't mind, I'm going to shower first."

She smiles at you, "Of course," and as you leave the kitchen, it makes you happy how her and Daryl instantly move closer and start whispering. Beth's friendship with Daryl has shown you a side of the other man _you never knew existed_. With her, years fall from his personality, and sometimes, he actually _giggles_ with her, though his hand flies to his mouth and it's a _really quiet sound._ They have so many private jokes and signals that you _don't even try_ to figure them out. Knowing that Daryl never had real friends in childhood or even as an adult, _especially never a best friend_ , makes you love Beth even more. She's Judith's mother, Daryl's best friend, and like a grown daughter to you ...and she helps makes your house a home. 

Upstairs in the shower, _you feel your age_ , and wonder if you may have overdone it with all that walking. After lunch, you're talking to Daryl, though, whether he _wants_ to hear it or not. 

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

When Rick heads upstairs, Beth makes a funny noise, and as you look into her wide, happy eyes, _you know she knows_. "It's about damn time," she grins, poking your shoulder, "I'm so proud of you."

She anticipates your question, "Back when I crushed on him, I adored watching him walk. I can totally tell."

You've been watching Rick all morning, and you _can't_ tell any difference in his walk. He favors his right side a little, but that's due to the hip wound, and _is a lot better_ than recent weeks. You eye Beth, "I can't tell."

"I can always tell when you've been with him, too. Daddy always said I have sharp eyes."

You grin at her questioning look, _details, always begging for details_. Having such a friend is _almost as bizarre_ to you as having a man like Rick love you, but you tell her, "It was everything I ever imagined."

She's a menace as she continues to joke and question, _but you enjoy her teasing_. When she tells you she has a date with Nathan tonight, you assure her that you'll handle dinner and Judith. 

 .....

After lunch, Rick tugs you upstairs, has you sit on the bed, and _launches into a speech_ as he paces back and forth in front of you. 

You watch his mouth, so stern and serious, and let him talk, and _for once_ you _aren't listening to his every word_ , you just let your eyes _caress_ his features. He finally shaved again yesterday, and though a part of you _always_ misses the beard, and after a month of no shaving, it had grown _wild and glorious_ , you also like the _revealing of his face_ when he shaves. Those full, too-red lips, the hollows of his cheeks, that gorgeous little cleft in his chin.

Those eyes, _burning blue at you_ , now concerned. "And that's why I'm ...," he's saying, and you can't help but smile because he's _so sincere in his worry and it's just so darn sweet._

When he suddenly stops speaking and _pokes_ you in the chest, "Are you even listening to me, Daryl?" you decide you've let him talk long enough. You grab his waist, stand, and pull him against you, grinding your hips gently against his _those damn wounds_ and _it's so fast how he hardens against you,_ that beautiful mouth dropping open in a gasp.

"Do you want me right now?" you ask, _rolling your hips_ and rubbing your dicks against each other, "Can I have you again even though you're still sore?"

He's panting now, and groans, "Yes," and you release him and step away.

He looks dizzy and confused, _and as he reaches for you_ , you push his hands away. "Now you're gonna listen to me, Rick," and watch as he folds his arms over his chest, _glaring_ at you now. "When you want me, I want you. If I'd ever not wanted it, and felt like the pain might bother me, we'd simply done something else. That's how this works. You ain't never hurt me. Ever."

He's blinking rapidly at you, then he nods, "I get it," and he's so gorgeous and _so alive_ that you reach for him again, "Come here."

You go slowly, unbuttoning his shirt as he watches your fingers. You're careful as you slip the garment from his shoulders and down his arms. The bullet wound in his shoulder _the pain he tries but fails to hide from you_ is still coated in a thick scab, an angry red color, slightly indenting into his flesh, but his arm and all of the other wounds are healing nicely. You gently place kisses on them all, and _marvel_ that he's almost as scarred _as you_ now. You straighten and his eyes are so loving and so exhausted _at the same time_ , and you nuzzle your cheek against his. You'd never believed in this kind of love, _but now you do_ , even though his walk-through-bullets type of love _like something out of a movie_  may always confound you _Dixons don't get loved like that_ and _a part of you may never_  feel worthy of him _._

You lean down to _kiss_  mouth at his hip as you unbutton his jeans, sitting back on the bed and rubbing your face all over the length of him. God, you love how hard he is _and the silken feel of his flesh_. He grabs your shoulders for balance, and you suck him as _deep_ as you can, loving the feel of him on your tongue. When he sways, you tug him to the bed, and immediately put your mouth back on him. It doesn't take long because _you're so focused_ on making him come _no teasing today_. His hands tighten in your hair, and he whispers, "Fuck I love you," as he comes, hot and wet, deep in your throat. 

You strip, too, for no other reason than you love being beside him naked. His eyes are drifting closed, and it amuses you that he's fighting to keep them open. Your lover, _so unselfish_ , but you curl against him and tell him to hush. 

"No, Daryl, let me..."

"Nope. Rest, Rick," and as if your voice willed it, he's sound asleep. 

You lean up on an elbow, _his face so beloved to you_ , and whisper, "Damn right. Even heroes need to heal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry if you received a notification yesterday that this chapter had been posted. It was not ready and I hit the wrong button. This is just a short one, leading into (or setting up) the next scenes. I'm already half done with Ch. 11 and will post it quickly! As always, share your thoughts. Your comments make my day. :)


	11. When The Past Comes Knocking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick overdoes it, weirdness happens, and Daryl's *feels* may wound us all.

**Rick's Perspective**

You wake, feeling much better _than before anyway_ , and Daryl's reading beside you. He has confessed to you that he'd loved literature in school, but after running away from home _the thought of him on the streets chills you_  before he actually graduated, he hadn't read again until after the apocalypse. During your recovery, he'd devoured book after book _Beth was always finding him something_ and though the healing process _hadn't been fun_ , you'd loved that it gave him the opportunity to rediscover books. He's somehow _more animated_ with a book in his hands than around other people, and when he reads out loud to you, his voice changes, he doesn't just read, _he tells you the story_. Now he scoffs at whatever he's reading, quirks an eyebrow at the page, and shakes his head. _Every time_ you think your love of him is as large as it can possibly grow, he does something like this and _proves you wrong_. 

He notices you're awake and sets his book aside, "I'm glad you made the first move."

"Me, too," you tell him, knowing he's referring to your first time with him in the guard tower, "but what brought that up?"

"Nothing. It's just this girl, she's so tortured, you know, but she won't open her damn mouth and tell him how she feels. Thing is, he loves her too. It's a damn shame."

You sit up, rolling your shoulder, the pain is subdued for now, "I tortured both of us for too long, though, I never should have pushed you away."

"Got you now, though," he says quietly before kissing you, a soft press of lips. 

Just as you start to deepen the kiss, there's a knock at the door, "Dad?"

"Yeah?" you answer, and you and Daryl immediately start dressing.

"Can I come in?"

Since both of you _unlike that one time_ have pants on now, "Sure son."

Carl slowly opens the door, his eyes tracing the wounds of your upper torso, "I wanted to ask you something."

You still aren't limber enough to get your own shirt on, and as Daryl helps you, Carl says, "You met mom when you were a teen, right? How did you know she was the one for you?"

Daryl's buttoning up your shirt, and he gives you a clear  _don't wanna hear this_ look so you suggest that he go check on Judith. He practically _runs_ from the room. 

"Let's go out to the front porch, get some fresh air," you tell Carl. 

The porch is one of your favorite spots. Between you and Beth, green plants and wooden flower boxes _built by Daryl_ create a homey little environment. Your rocking chair _old lady chair Daryl calls it_ is where you spent a lot of time healing. It's hard for you to just sit and be still, and the rocking at least gives you _something to do_. 

It's not hard anymore to _talk_ about Lori, and you know time has _gentled_ her memory. For Carl's sake, you've all but let every bad memory _her constant bitching her need to control_ drift away, and you focus on all of the good. And there _had_ been good. 

Your son thinks he's in love with a pretty little red-head named Joanna. You've seen them together many times now _all shy awkwardness_ and you're glad that this part of growing up _can still happen_ for him. 

"Every time I open my mouth, seems like something stupid is popping out," he tells you and you work hard not to smile because _you do remember that feeling_. Mainly, you don't offer advice _you just listen_ to him.  

After an hour or so, Daryl _with_   _Judith on his hip_ joins you and Carl. The conversation is now all about the katana, so Daryl jumps in with the crossbow's advantages. 

His face suddenly grows serious and he's looking down the street. You see Glenn _running_ toward you. He's out of breath when he reaches the porch, "There's a massive wave of walkers headed straight to the safe zone. Michonne wants everyone on the walls, and you to come see her."

Daryl hands Judith to Carl, grasps your forearm briefly, telling you _to be safe_ with his eyes, grabs his crossbow, and dashes off to find his hunters. You follow Glenn across the safe zone to where Michonne stands instructing a small group. "We do not engage them or draw attention," she's saying, "Not a single shot fired over the wall. We simply watch for potential breaches, and fix them. Got me? Go, watch your portions of the wall."

She nods in dismissal and _despite the direness_ of the situation, you shoot her a quick grin. In your absence, she's stepped right into your shoes, and you're proud of her. The grin quickly die _s as people see you_ and it's exhausting how they look at you like a savior, like they believe _you'll jump the wall and kill every last walker_. You're just a man, and a flawed one, _nobody's damn hero_.

"Let them have their delusions," she says, nudging your good shoulder with hers, and you smile both because _she knows you so well_ and because she's _always willing_ to give you a reality check.

"Delusions, huh?" you nudge her back, and then focus, "How many?"

"Scout says 'as far as the eye can see' and since he's not one to exaggerate, I'm thinking thousands have grouped together as they head out of the city. I sent out the Silence order." It _is_ eerily quiet. Herds often just flow around the safe zone, as they do most structures in their paths, _if nothing draws their attention_. Silence is a must, and the inhabitants of the safe zone are well-trained.

The next 24 hours are both tedious and exhausting. The massive wave of the dead seems never-ending _like an ocean_ and for the first 12 hours or so, they stretch to the horizon, as far as your eye can see. The moaning and groaning _like an enormous symphony of misery_ is so loud and nerve-wracking and everyone you see has a _pinched_ miserable look on their face. You also notice that the _more you speak_ with people, the more they _seem_ to see you as human again.  

You walk the perimeter 100's of times, help hand out water bottles and snacks, check for weaknesses, but mainly you just talk to your people, reassuring them _this will end_ , the wave of death will eventually flow past. 

Every time you pass Daryl and the hunters, who guard the weakest area of the perimeter, the main entrance, he eyes you with concern. You _pick up your step_ around him and _try_ to not roll your shoulder _despite the burn_. It's an act _that falls away_ as soon as you're out of his sight, and others around the wall urge you to rest. _Fuck that_ , you think, and even though exhaustion tugs at you, you _refuse_ to leave your people until the threat has passed. 

But that was then, and now that there's only the occasional straggler, weaker walkers, usually those with physical signs of painfully unimaginable deaths, and you are _close_ _to collapsing_ on your feet. Deciding that threat is gone now, you are slowly heading back to your house when Michonne comes jogging up.

"Two cars just pulled up to the northeast perimeter and are attracting the stragglers. I'm going to send a team out to get them. I was going to see if you wanted to talk to them, but you look dead on your feet."

From _deep within you_ , you pull up some energy, shake your head and follow her back to where two dusty cars sit outside the wall, surrounded by about 20 walkers. You watch as Michonne, Daryl, and the three _remaining_ hunters quickly dispatch the walkers, and lead the cars to the main entrance. 

Anytime the gate is opened for vehicles is a _lengthy_ process. First two old tracker trailers must be drug out of the way and the layers and layers of spike strips have to be rolled up. With the walker stragglers still a threat, that's not happening now. Michonne leads a group of six over the wall. Though her and the hunters hold their guns loosely, there's _no doubt_ to the six newcomers that they're under guard, and nudged forward, until the six of them line up in front of you. 

"I'm Rick Grimes. I'm the leader here. My second in command, Michonne, the badass chick with the katana, has some questions for you, and some rules to discuss with you. For now, you'll be under guard until we figure if you'll be allowed to stay," you _slowly_ walk down the line, eyeing the first 5 men. Exhaustion is _almost_ blackening your vision when you reach the last, and as that one, a female, tugs off her hat, you see _painfully familiar_ angular features, a flash of golden brown eyes, and a spill of long, chestnut-colored hair.

"Lori?" you choke out, and then Daryl's arms are around you _catching you_ and you see no more. 

.....

**Daryl's Perspective**

You want to kick his ass, _and Michonne's too for fetching him._ His exhaustion may not be apparent to the new people, but _you_ see it _the pronounced limp, the constant rolling of his shoulder, the heaviness of his eyelids_. You want to say something, but you'd never _in a million years_ undermine his leadership in front of anyone, _much less strangers_.

You are standing behind the tall woman as she whips off her hat, and the raw _hope_ on his face _the choked sound_ of his question, "Lori?" _stabs_ a weird pain deep in you, but you have no time to react as your _shoving your way_ to his side and catching him. You sweep him up in your arms and without a word to anyone, carry his _stupid ass_ home. 

"Beth!" you yell, and she opens the door, quickly stepping back to let you carry him up the stairs.

"Oh no, oh my god, is he shot again?" she _demands_ from behind you.

"No, he's just stupid as shit, should have been asleep 12 hours ago. It's just exhaustion, but go get your kit and check him out anyway."

You stand beside her, _wringing your damn hands_ , as she takes his blood pressure, listens to his heart and lungs, and holds open his eye to her penlight. 

"He just needs to sleep," she says, "When's the last time he ate something?"

"I don't fucking know!" you yell at her and Judith starts crying from her room.

Beth rubs a hand down your arm, her face concerned, "Hey. He's gonna be fine. Just get him comfortable while I go take care of Judith, okay?"

You nod and then she's closing the door, launching into some sweet-sounding song, and Judith's cries stop quickly.

You stare down at him for a minute, and then _carefully_ start to remove his clothes, _fussing_ the whole time, "You're really dumb, you know that? No one expects you to walk the perimeter for 24 fucking solid hours. You trying to kill yourself? 'Cause if you are, I'll just shoot you now and save you the trouble. In fact, I may shoot you any damn way."

As you slide a pair of sweatpants up his legs, and _gently_ tug them over his hips, reaction sets in, and your press your face into his _warm stomach_ , "You can't keep doing this shit to me," you mumble against his skin. 

After a minute, you sit up and grab Beth's stethoscope from where she left it on the nightstand. You don't really know what it means, but as the strong beat of his heart _thumps_ in your ears, you huff out a breath, "Fucking Lori."

.........

Hours later, Michonne visits to check on him and you ream her, "What the fuck were you thinking? We could'a handled it without him."

"I know," her dark brown eyes are full of sorrow, "you're right. I shouldn't have said anything about the cars, but once I did, there was no stopping him."

She looks so sad that your anger _drains_ away. This isn't her fault, "We have to protect him from himself."

"I know," she says softly, "I can't live without him."

"You fucking think I can?" you ask, but anger has left you, and you meet her _sad eyes_ , "We've gotta do better."

She nods, glancing away before meeting your eyes, "That woman. Glenn says she's definitely not Lori."

"I know," you tell her, "I knew Lori. I saw what was left of her."

"Glenn says the resemblance is uncanny. Like a doppleganger," her voice is so hesitant, and all the fear _pain_ you felt at the _hope on his face_ roars back. 

"He loves you," she says, and at your brisk nod she adds, "he can't live without you, either."

You hang your head, tired of it all and _the misery in you_ doesn't want to hear her reassurances. The look on his face, regardless of his exhaustion, had resembled _a second chance_. As though he'd take her back _over you_ in a heartbeat. 

"Trust me," she adds, patting your shoulder, "You're his obsession. That woman is nothing to him."

"Thanks," you say, but your voice rings hollow. She pats you again, and then quietly exits. 

You lay back on the bed beside him and _ever so gently_ take him into your arms, "But do you love me because you can't have her?"

His sleeping face has no answer, and your mind replays _that hope_ that hadn't just shined from his _eyes_ , it had shined from his _soul_. 


	12. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick's better and Daryl figures out some stuff and thangs. Some fluff, some smut, even some plot. :) Enjoy my sweets. I rushed this one, I felt I owed it to you guys after that last chapter, so please forgive any errors. I'll get it cleaned up.

**Rick's Perspective**

When you wake, you're alone, and so damn thirsty. Of course there's a glass of water waiting on the nightstand _Daryl is always taking care of you_. You sip it slowly and then your stomach rumbles painfully. All in all, you feel _pretty damn good_ though, until you stand and a wave of dizziness has you sitting back on the bed. Damn, you need to eat something. 

You carefully make your way down the stairs, _gripping_ the railing. In the kitchen, Beth and Judy are playing their humming game _so stinking cute_ the one where Beth hums some notes and Judy tries to copy her. 

"You little mimic," you say from the doorway, and you don't protest _so weak_ when Beth comes to take your arm and help you to the table. 

Judy holds out her arms to you, and you want to pick the baby up _but you mig_ _ht drop her as weak as you are._ Beth grabs a small loaf of bread from the stove, rips it in half, distracting Judy with the smaller half. 

"Eat," handing you the other half. You and Judy _grin_ and watch one another eat. 

"Where's Daryl?" you ask _surprised you've lasted so long_ , adding, "And Carl?"

"Daryl left with the hunters before dawn and Carl's with Michonne," she tells you, "you've been asleep for over 12 hours."

You blink. Damn. _That's a long ass time_. 

"They should be back tonight. He left you a note," she says, tugging a scrap of paper from her pocket. 

You open it slowly _he's never written you a note before_ it's a sweet thought and surprises you.

His script is almost illegible. KEEP YOUR STUPID ASS IN THE HOUSE.

You and Beth grin at each other, and then you watch her fix you a bowl from the giant pot on the stove, until the memory of the day before surges into your mind, "What did Michonne decide about the new people?"

"Nothing yet, I don't think, though she told Daryl they'd been out there too long."

You nod. Every so often new people show up at the safe zone, _most get to stay_ , but sometimes they've gone too crazy from life on the road _from what they've done to survive_. It's not an _easy_ decision, to give someone supplies and send them away _out there with the dead_ but you've done it a couple of times. And then there's _yet another_ threat for the perimeter guard to have to watch out for. 

"Is there a woman with them?" you ask _or did you hallucinate Lori again_. 

"Yeah," she says, patting your good shoulder, "and Carl freaked out when he saw her, too. The resemblance is remarkable."

"Carl okay?"

"Yeah, it was just when he first saw her. He's fine. Now Daryl..." her voice trails away as she sets a bowl of stew in front of you. 

You take a bite, and your stomach clenches in happiness at the flavor, "What about Daryl?" 

"She worries him because she looks just like Lori."

You frown, "So what?"

"Exactly," she says and then starts humming. Judy giggles and then mimics the sound perfectly. 

...........

After you eat, you pick up Judy and head outside to the porch _._  The weather feels warmer than it has in a long tim _e, and between the gentle rocking and the nice breeze_ , you and Judy are both napping when Carl and Michonne climb the porch steps.

Michonne gently takes Judy, "Gonna put her in her crib," but as she cuddles the baby, she starts rocking Judy back and forth. You smile at the samurai, stand up and offer her your chair, and with a _slightly_ sheepish smile, she takes it, softly rocking as she lays her cheek against Judy's hair. 

You reach out to ruffle your son's hair, but Carl _wraps his arms_ around you instead, pressing his ear to your chest, "You have to start taking better care of yourself, dad. Besides," he snorts, "Daryl's too old to be carrying around a grown man. You're going break his back one of these days."

You hug him to you _he's getting taller_ and quietly say, "I know that wasn't very smart. I should have just let everyone else handle it."

"Well, I'm not gonna fuss," he says, "but Daryl's gonna when he sees you're finally awake. I kinda feel a little sorry for you for when he gets ahold of you."

"I'll handle Daryl," you say, and Michonne scoffs so loudly that Judy wakes up. As if the baby understands what's being said, she grins sleepily at you as if to say _sure you will dad_. 

Carl lets you go and takes Judy, "We'll let you two talk," and heads in the house. Michonne gives you back your chair, and pulls up another. 

She answers the question on your face. "3 of the men don't seem too bad, in fact, two are skilled hunters and we could use them. But the other two guys, and maybe even the woman, need to go." 

You nod, your _trust in her judgement_ a given, "Why maybe on the woman?"

"Just a feeling I have. Look, I don't judge her for being with them and trying to survive, but she obviously plays their whore. Like I said, not my business, it's a hard world out there. There's just something about her, something not right, I can't really put my finger on it."

"Go with your gut."

"My gut says the two crazy ones aren't gonna be easy to get rid of."

You meet the worry in her eyes, "We'll figure it out. I know you still have them guarded, and they're locked tight in the cells, so they are fine for now."

"Go rest for another couple of hours, Rick," she urges, "then we'll go talk to them together."

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

Rick and Michonne found some duck calls on a run a while back, and you, Adam, and Paul tried them out today. Considering the dozens of mallards _stacked_ in the back of the truck, the hunt was highly successful and _managed to take your mind off Rick for while._

"We really need to find us a dog to train," Adam says for the 100th time. It's true though, all of you are _soaking_ wet, and it's no fun wading into a pond to retrieve ducks. As Adam launches _again_ into stories of the hunting dogs he used to train, it's hard not to let your mind drift to Rick. _Collapsing in exhaustion_. To that woman. _Looking just like Lori_. 

You hope he's still asleep, but the fool is probably out chopping wood _or some shit like that_. You've spent the day alternating between fury at him _man doesn't know his limits_ and worry _that look in his eyes_ as he saw the woman. You know he loves you, and you try to shake off these feelings _this jealousy_ but that _look_ , dammit. 

The sun is just starting to set  _painting the sky in shades of orange_ when you reach the safe zone. Several folks climb over the wall to help with the ducks as you and Adam disable the truck. Leaving it outside is only smart, it's _so much trouble_ to open the entrance, and even a stealthy thief is never going to be able to hook back up all the cables without being spotted by one of the perimeter watch. 

Adam nudges your hand, "Go. Go check on him. I'll finish up here."

You send him a grateful nod, and as you listen to your boots _squish_ , you only want to see Rick's _hopefully still sleeping_ face and take a hot shower. It's cooler now that the sun is setting, and you're shivering by the time you reach home. 

"Oh no! What happened?" Beth says as you enter the house. 

"Nothing a hot shower won't fix. He still down?"

"He was up for a couple of hours, now he's asleep again, I think."

Upstairs, you quietly slip in your bedroom, staring down at him as the day's last light shadows his face, _and you love him so much that you don't know how your heart contains it all_. He's on his side with his arms wrapped around your pillow, and there's something in his hand, a small piece of paper. _Your note_ , you realize, and just like that, peace unwinds your misery.

In the bathroom, you strip, clothes plopping wetly to the floor. The shower feels _amazing_ , warming you up in no time, and you are scrubbing shampoo in your hair when you feel _the warm length of Rick press down your back_.

"You might want to come back later, my lover'll kill you when he wakes up," you say, your voice deeper than normal, relaxing in his arms. All day you'd planned what to say when you saw him again, mainly how you'd _fuss at him_ for being selfish, how he needed to take better care of himself, and stop being _so damn stupid_. But here you are flirting instead. 

He lets out a surprised chuckle, and kisses the back of your neck, saying huskily against your skin, "I take it he's the jealous type?"

"Yeah, he's a little insane about me," and as you say the words out loud, _you know they're true_. You turn in his arms, planning to kiss him hard, but the look in his eyes, partly contrite _but mainly loving_ , has you nibbling slowly at his lips, soft tugs and presses, and your tongues, when they meet, tangle so gently  _that it's like you're under a spell of heat_ , from his mouth, his body pressing down the front of you, and the steam from the shower. 

You break the kiss, press your forehead to his, and the two of you have a wordless conversation where you _do finally_ fuss at him and he apologizes and _promises to do better_. After that, you stroke soap over one another's skin, and repeatedly turn each other under the spray of the shower. 

Later, mainly dry, you fall onto the bed, _hands and mouths everywhere_ , until you decide you aren't finished fussing, grab his chin, and stare hard into the blue of his eyes. He nods, and you attack the skin of his neck, _punishing bites_ that you immediately soothe with your tongue. You grind yourself hard against him, _probably too hard considering his hip_ , but you know you aren't really hurting him. 

He grabs your head so he can meet your eyes, huskily _demanding_ , "Fuck me again, please Daryl," and you don't have to be asked twice, reaching over into the nightstand. As you prepare him, he moans _and tosses his head on the pillow_ , and when you start to tug him onto his side, he says, "No, like this, I want to see you."

"Your hip," you start to protest, but his buck up against you _and you easily cave_. You try to go so slow, slipping gently into the heat of his body, _but he has other ideas_ , pushing his hips towards yours, his mouth open and panting, and it feels so good that _you lose your mind_ for a few minutes, moving too fast _the friction oh god_ and pounding into him too hard. You feel it though, _when he's about to come_ , and you slow down, "You're mine," you growl at him. 

"I'm yours," he gasps and then he's _coming wildly_ between you, _whispering how much he loves you_ , over and over again, and then pleasure consumes you too, your back bows, and you come deep inside the tight heat of his body. 

Later, you shower again, wordlessly cleaning one another, with long pauses for kisses, _and you wonder how you ever thought anyone was capable of taking him from you._

........

Now you, Rick, and Michonne are outside the jail where the new arrivals are kept under guard and Rick's saying, "I'll do all the talking, you two watch their reactions, as usual."

Potts _what the fuck is he doing here_ walks out the door. You, Rick, and Potts have developed an uneasy truce since Rick beat the shit out him, mainly Potts _stays the fuck away_ from both of you.

"What are you doing here, Potts?" Rick demands, and the other man holds up a stack of plates. 

"Bonnie had me deliver some food."

"Well, until I decide what to do about them," Rick gestures to the jail, "you stay away. Are we clear?"

"Like crystal," Potts says, brushing past the three of you. 

"Fucker's up to something," you say.

Rick nods, eyeing Potts as he walks away, "Yeah, but we can worry about him later. Let's get this done."

Inside the six newcomers occupy each of the six cells. All stand, coming to attention as the 3 of you enter, and the short, stocky one immediately starts demanding to be let out. 

Rick interrupts him, "We have to be careful about who we let in the safe zone. Very soon, you'll either be given supplies and sent on your way, or we'll ask you to stay."

You focus on the woman, and it's still a shock, _she could easily be Lori's identical twin_ you can't see Rick's eyes as they meet hers, but his shoulders square, and he introduces himself again. 

"I'm Rick Grimes, and as I told you yesterday, I'm the leader of the safe zone."

The men, _some grudgingly_ , call out their names. When Rick turns to the woman, who to your disgust _is eyeing Rick like a cat with a bowl of cream,_ she slowly licks her lips, "I'm Angelica."

You've _never_ harmed a woman in your life, but right now you're really glad bars separate you from her _because this bitch may become the exception._


	13. No One But You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick, then Daryl.

**Rick's Perspective**

You decide to question them separately. The jail has a small interrogation room, and you take a seat _you're not going to overdo it today_. Daryl and Michonne bring them to you one by one. Apparently the six of them have only been traveling together for about a month.

The three men Michonne previously deemed okay had been holed up in a small town since the ZA began, but had eventually run out of supplies, and depleted the nearby woods of game. They don't care for the other two men, but all insist Angelica is a good woman trapped in a bad situation.  

After talking to them, you go with Michonne's original impression and decide they can stay, _on a trial basis_ , to see if they'll fit into the safe zone. 

Of the two Michonne deems unacceptable, the short, stout one, instantly _gives you the creeps_ with the way his eyes disrespect Michonne and you really don't even question him _he's not worth your time_ , and the other, meanness in his eyes, _seems a bit slow_ , and over shares about what a badass he is, how many men he's killed, and how he hopes there's some good-looking women around. All in all, you agree with Michonne. These two must go, _and exactly how you'll do that escapes you at present._

After seeing the woman again while she was in the cell, her uncanny resemblance to your dead wife doesn't have quite the same impact, but it's still bizarre, like a hallucination brought to life. She strolls to the table, rolling her hips, perches on the edge of chair, and leans her upper body _definitely bustier than Lori_ toward you. You meet the golden brown of her eyes, and she's actually _even prettier_ than Lori had been, and a part of you _does wish it was her_ not for yourself _for your children_ , Carl and Judith growing up _without their mom_. 

"How'd you hook up with those two, Angelica?" _Intelligence gleams_ in her eyes and you know better than to underestimate her. She sighs deeply, holding your eyes, and for a brief second, she feels like Lori, so bold and _confident._

"I was by myself and they offered me the only two things that matter anymore in this world," she says, and then a hint of tears appear in her eyes, "food and safety. They are not friends of mine, though, we just survive together."

 _You get that_ , and you get why she turned to them for protection. You can't blame the woman for doing whatever it took, _and it doesn't make her a bad person,_ just a desperate one. She claims to have killed lots of walkers, but not a single person, and says she was a teacher before the apocalypse, and was married, to a police officer, and had three little boys who'd all died in the first days. 

"Rick," she says your name in a pleading tone, and you _sense_ Daryl stiffen behind you, "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get to stay here. I promise to pull my weight and contribute to the safe zone. Please don't send me back out there with them."

She reaches up to finger her hair, and the mannerism _reminds_ you so much of Lori, _the sweet teenage Lori_ you once loved, that you find yourself nodding, "You can stay, on a trial basis, but those other two can't. How much of a problem are they going to be when you stay behind?"

"I don't know," her expression appears open and honest, _and you're unable to read a lie in her_ , "They don't care about me, but they do think of me as their property."

"Well those days are over. You follow the rules here, you'll fit in just fine," you nod to Daryl and Michonne to take her back out, but as she stands and turns to leave, you see a look of disgust cross Daryl's face. It _doesn't make sense_ to you, Daryl's always protective of those who've been wronged or abused. Angelica's story _should have_ tugged at his heart.

Both Daryl and Michonne are eying you strangely when they return, so you ask, "Was I wrong?"

Daryl's head drops, not meeting your eyes, but Michonne does, "I can't put my finger in it, Rick, but that woman is going to be trouble."

"So, do we send her back out there with those two? Back to being their property?"

"Shit," she breathes, "No, we can't do that. I don't know what to tell you."

"I don't sense whatever you are, Michonne, but I trust your gut. We'll just have to keep a close watch on her. I admit that maybe my judgement is warped. The resemblance is..."

Daryl finally meets your eyes, and it's been so long since he's looked at you like that ... _like he doesn't know you_. 

"Daryl," you start, but he turns and leaves the room, and Michonne shakes her head at you and follows him. 

What are you supposed to do? After a minute of scrubbing your cheeks _and wondering if you've made a bad decision_ , you head over to Monroe's to inform him of the four new people you need processed. And to discuss what should be done about _the two who can't stay_.  

........

**Daryl's Perspective**

_You're so fucking pissed off_. 

Michonne's on your heels, and for a minute you ignore her, but then stop in your tracks, "Can I stay at your house tonight?" 

"No, you can't," she's repeatedly shaking her head no, "running won't solve a damn thing. Besides, I want to sleep, and there's no way in hell Rick's gonna simply let you leave him, even for the night. And you guys aren't arguing at my house."

"Not gonna argue," you say, but you acknowledge her point about running, _it's a bad idea_ , and you're a _little embarrassed_ you even suggested it, "You can see it. I can see it. Why can't he?"

"What's he supposed to do? Send her back with those men? We just keep an eye on her, and if we're right, then we'll handle it. I don't like it, either, but he made the only decision he could. Surely you see that."

 _But that's the problem_ , you think, you _don't believe_ Angelica's story, so you don't feel the sympathy that Rick and _even Michonne_ have for that woman. 

Inside your house, you focus on Beth and Judy. Beth's eyes are questioning, but she drops the matter at the shake of your head. The two of you concentrate on the baby instead _sweet little giggle box_ and by the time you go upstairs to shower, you're in a much better mood, and the house is quiet.

After a while, though, that feeling drains away. _Where the fuck is Rick_?

Suddenly you're pissed at yourself that you just walked away from him _you did not handle that well_. You hope he's not off doing _something stupid_ , overworking himself.  

You are struggling to read when you hear his boots on the stairs. You abandon the book and sit up in bed, prepared to give him a piece of your mind, but as he opens the door and eyes you, _you can't think of anything to say_. 

"I just want to understand why you don't think we should give that woman a chance. I'm really confused. Do you really think she's a threat to the safe zone or is this just jealousy? If it is, you're being stupid. I will never leave you."

He's standing there, his back against the door, eyes searching your face, looking all confused, and you're not dealing with the shit right now _you will not talk about_ her _in_ _your_ _bedroom_. You grab your pillow and approach him, "Move. I'm sleeping on the couch."

"Like hell you are," he says quietly, stepping close.  

"I need some space," you tell him.

"Well, you're not fucking getting any space," his tone is low, and his blue eyes are hard, _and damn it all_ , he's sexy as hell when he glares at you like that. 

 _Fuck_ , you realize, _he's gonna win this_. Being in his presence has already shifted your mood from angry to aroused and as you watch him stride to the bathroom, the _last_ thing you want to do is argue with _blood steadily pumping away from your brain to your dick._

"Fine," you say, not even remembering _what_ you're agreeing to, it was the last word in your mind, so you say it. You reach a hand down, and start pumping at your hard-on. The shower cuts off quickly, and a moment later, he stands next to the bed, scrubbing a towel over his hair as his eyes _so damn hot_ watching you touch yourself.

Tossing the towel aside, he sits, taking your balls into his hand, making you moan. Then he leans down to mouth and lick at the flesh, nipping his teeth against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Spreading your legs, you remember your promise, and _brace yourself to stay here in this moment_ here with him. You're both _relieved and disappointed_ when you feel his fingers entering you, stretching you. Your hand falls away as he leans up to suck the length of you into his mouth _meanwhile those clever fingers are stroking inside you_ , finding and pressing against that perfect spot. 

His other hand briefly replaces his mouth, "Who do you belong to?" His voice is _harsh and low_  your arousal hits a fever pitch and you moan, "You Rick you."

"And who do I belong to?"

"Me!" you pant as pleasure rolls  _surges through you_ as you gasp his name _Rick_ your back arches off the bed and you come deep in his throat. 

Completely spent, you let him tug you into his arms, your head on his chest _where it belongs_ as you listen to the beat of his heart, "It would be impossible for anyone to take me from you, Daryl. I'm yours in every imaginable way."

You nod against his skin, _and you do believe him_ , but you also know that _he loved her first_. _  
_

Whereas you've never loved _anyone_ but him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so short, but I needed to break it away from the next chapter. Please tell me your thoughts! I adore reading them. :)


	14. The Difference Between Reptiles and Mammals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost pure fluff. Yes, I know, what in the world are Angelica and Potts up to? All will unfold. Evil awaits us, but for now, we drown in Rickyl. I adore my commenters. Be one. :) Inspire me.

**Rick's Perspective**

You awake _smushed_ _as usual_ Daryl's heavy weight sprawled on top of you. _Perhaps the best feeling in the world_ , other than when his eyes _shine love_ at you or you make him _laugh_ or he pants in _pleasure beneath you or above you._ Truthfully, you know there are _hundreds of things_ about Daryl that are the best things in _your_ world. 

He _is_ your world and you don't know how to prove it to him, how to show him just how important he is to you. As gorgeous as he is, any compliment you give him is brushed away, often awkwardly, because he doesn't _believe it_. If you praise his skills at hunting, he scoffs and says _just had to learn_. If you almost kill another man just for touching him, he says he likes it, _but doesn't fucking get the importance of that clue_. He's oblivious and it frustrates you to no end. 

 _Time_ , you think, he just needs time to adjust to your love. Time will prove to him _this is real_ this is everything to you. But the self-assurance _feels weak_. As deeply as you know him, _you don't know him at all_. He shares almost nothing of himself, _of his past._ He accepts that you know his life has been riddled with abuse, both physical and sexual, but he shares _none of it_ with you. Over time, you've realized the abuse was also psychological and mental. The man has zero self-confidence and sees himself as lesser. _How do you heal that_? Not even knowing what it is you need to heal?

You wish he could see himself how you see him. You wish he could crawl inside your mind and view the sweet, brave, strong, amazing person that he is. It hurts you _for him_ when he sometimes flinches from you. Last night when you'd thought you might cash in one of his promises _and put your mouth and tongue all over him,_ his body had gone so still, so full of sudden _tension_ , that you'd used your fingers instead. If he's never going to be comfortable with that _fine you don't really care it's perfect as it is_ but if you knew _why_ that sudden tension strummed through him, you might have a chance of helping him get rid of that feeling forever. 

Time, you tell yourself again, give him time. You lean your head up, peering over the top of his shaggy head, down the lean muscles of his back, over _the perfect, solid round curve_ of his ass, down to the columned muscles of his thigh, slung over yours. _Never in your life have you seen a more perfect form_. But try to tell him that? You're brushed away. 

Does he really think that someone who happens to look like Lori would make you turn from him? Make you leave this bliss? _This fucked up perfection_? Does he even know you at all? It pisses you off, _not at him_ , he's always innocent in your mind, but at the world, that was somehow _just as fucked up_ before the apocalypse as it is now. A world where a soul like Daryl's wasn't _loved and cosseted_ , but was beaten, belittled, and taken advantage of. 

He hums lightly against your chest, waking up so slowly, and  _you know that this is still new for him_ , the comfort he finds in your arms. You know these moments are as much _his bliss as yours_ and you say, "Good morning, gorgeous."

"Stop," he says, _as if on command_ , and nuzzles his face against your chest. 

A bit angrily you reply, "Your first words in the morning should not be 'stop.'"

He lifts his head, blue eyes sleepy, hair standing crazily, "Go, then," and the drowsy arousal in his voice makes you forget why you might have been angry, and you lean up to kiss him. _That sweet mouth_ , your hands in that wild hair, and you grind yourself against his thigh.  

A cry splits the air, _Judith_ , and you both groan, before he's jumping away and tugging on his pants, "I've got her."

"Well shit," you say, staring up at the ceiling. 

A couple of minutes later, he's back, _looking so precious holding Judy_ and your heart beats in your throat, "Tonight," you promise, "we'll be finishing that."

He grins and Judy contentedly says, "My da da's," and you _snuggle_ the baby between you for a few moments before she's demanding, "Eat eat!"

.....

**Daryl's Perspective**

After breakfast, a time when everyone, _all of your family_ , has started gathering around your table, _joking and discussing their plans for the day_ , Rick and Michonne leave for their watch, and you go meet your hunters. A small shed, fairly far from the hubbub of the living areas, is where the three of you have been tanning hides. Clothing will eventually need to be supplemented, and _you love that more parts of the animals you hunt will be utilize_ d. 

Paul is the expert at tanning, he knows so many techniques for different animals. Deer and rabbit hides are around the shed in varying degrees of the lengthy process, _it's all utterly fascinating to you_ , and you relentlessly question Paul's extensive store of knowledge, absorbing his teachings like a sponge.

Hours later, the three of you have done all you can today, and as you leave the shed last, you hear some walkers behind the wall. That, in itself, is not so unusual, but what is _strange_ is the excitement in their moans. You climb up, standing on top of the wall, and watch a group of three of the dead ripping into something. As two of the walkers lean back to chew, you catch a glimpse of the long legs and tail of a canine. The dog, _or what's left of the poor thing_ , makes you so sad. If only you'd gotten there a few minutes sooner. Under the groans of the walkers, you hear whimpering, and since there's no way that dog is still alive, _some thing needs saving_. 

A firm safe zone rule is to never go over the wall by yourself, but the whimpering sound brings out every protective instinct in you _and you have to know_. Shooting three arrows in rapid succession, you jump the side, and follow the whimpering to a hole in the ground, dug under the side of the tracker trailer that buttresses this portion of the wall. 

 _You already know what you'll find_ but as you reach into the hole  _squirming warmth_ and pull out a fat puppy, its tiny eyes still closed, you chuckle in relief. There are three in all, though one is much smaller and skinnier. Stripping off your shirt, you create a makeshift bag, and carefully climb back over. _If only Hershel were here_ , you think, and then realize you have the next best thing, _his daughters_.  

As you hustle across the safe zone, you see Potts and Angelica _bitch_ sitting on one of the previously empty house's porches. Unlike the tiny mammals wiggling in your shirt, Angelica reminds you _feels like_ the reptiles you tried to befriend in your youth, back when the woods were _your safe zone_ , and you'd reached out to any animal you could catch and hold. It hadn't taken you long to realize the _differences_ between mammals and reptiles. Snakes and lizards were _incapable of warmth_ , of enjoying a scratch behind their ears, of bonding with you. _Incapable of emotion_. Cold and hard like Angelica. 

You feel Potts' eyes on your naked back and wish you'd just stuffed the puppies inside your shirt. Fucker. _The fucker and the reptile._

Seeing your house, you shake those two away, flinging open your door, belting out, "Beth! Come see! You're not gonna believe what I've found!"

........

Beth and Maggie agree the pups are barely two weeks old _four weeks away from when their mother would normally ween them_. Maggie is pessimistic, they are too young, she says, _but your girl shines excitement at you_ , Beth echoing your sentiment, that you'll _make_ the little squirmers live. 

When Rick and Michonne join you, their eyes glowing in amazement, you can't stop smiling, the samurai's face is alight with joy, and Rick immediately reaches for the tiny, skinny one. 

"What do we do?" everyone asks, and you smile at Beth because _she will figure this out_. 

Beth rubs her fingers over the skinny pup in Rick's hands, "Surely there's a pet store somewhere close? I'm not sure if the replacement milks would be out of date, though... powdered milk would be better than nothing... we'll just have to experiment."

Michonne prods Rick, "That pet store by that strip mall?"

Rick grins at her, rubbing the puppy against his cheek, "Haven't been on a run in a while."

.........

There are a couple dozen walkers in the Petco, but you and Michonne _easily_ take them out as Rick fills a laundry bag. He's grabbing so much stuff and _humming and nodding_ at everything he stuffs in the bag. You and Michonne share a look, _neither of you have ever heard Rick hum befor_ e, and you think back to the look on his face as he nuzzled the puppy _so stinking sweet._

"Awww," Michonne says to you quietly as you quirk an eyebrow at her. 

You try to take the bag from Rick, but he shakes his head no, and drags it on the ground behind him as he heads to the next aisle, where he examines huge bags of puppy and dog food, "Let's fill the truck with these," he says. As you and Michonne lug the giant bags out, Rick is filling another bag with treats, flea and tick treatments, medicines, even toys and collars, _humming all the while,_ his head tilting from side to side _and looking so boyish that you might die if you don't touch him._

"Turn around," you tell Michonne, and as she grins and turns, _you grab Rick_ , wrap him in your arms and kiss him passionately.

He looks a bit _dazed_ as you pull away, "What was that for?"

"Puppies make you so damn cute," you whisper in his ear, nibbling his earlobe, and nipping your teeth gently down his neck. Grabbing his hips, you grind yourself against him, and both of you let about a little moan. 

"Really?" Michonne laughs, "Should I go wait in the truck?"

You've never kissed Rick in front of anyone before _never wanted to_ and you're blushing as you take the bag from him, "Truck's full. Come on, let's go feed them."

The three of you are almost at the door when Rick _dashes back_ and grabs a giant dog bed. The thing is so ridiculously big, _you_ could sleep in it. He's got a huge grin on his face, and says cheerfully, "Let's go!"

Damn, but your heart is _squeezing_ , and this time when you kiss him, you don't care if the whole world is watching. 


	15. What Just Happened?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet and then heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I don't give you guys whiplash in this chapter, jumping back and forth between perspectives, but if you've stuck with me this long, I bet you can handle it. :) As always, share your thoughts. My readers are the life blood of this story. You have no idea how much I love hearing from you.

**Rick's Perspective**

The two fat pups take to the replacement milk _greedily_ , slurping away at their tiny bottles, _sprawled back_ in Beth and Carl's arms, _round little tummies growing rounder_. You have the runt, and no matter _what you do_ , the tiny thing keeps choking and spitting up most of the milk. Daryl sits beside you, sad eyes glued to the little guy.  

"The nipple may be too big," Beth muses, and you sigh because there hadn't been any smaller at the pet store, "maybe dip a bit of a rag in the milk and see if it will suckle on that."

This method also fails, but you manage to get several more drops into the mewling pup.  

"I wish we had an eye dropper," Beth says. 

"I'll find one!" Daryl's already out the door, _and you know he'll tear apart the safe zone looking for one_. 

He's back in a few minutes, followed by Paul, who says, "Hot damn! Three hunting dogs!"

But Daryl smiles at you, "Two hunting dogs. This one here," he says, pointing to the runt in your arms, "That one is Rick's."

 _You can't stop grinning_ as you take the eye dropper and begin squeezing tiny amounts of milk down the puppy's throat. The little fellow chokes a few times, but after a while, begins to suckle at the eye dropper, "Not just mine," you say, smiling at Beth and Carl, "Our family's."

"What are you gonna name him, dad?"

"I don't know yet. I think we should wait to see their personalities before we name them."

Paul is examining one of the fat one's paws, and slowly rubbing his hands around the puppy's skull, ribs, and over the bones of its sleeping, limp thighs, "They're mixed breed, but are going to be big dogs judging by this bone structure. Probably 80 plus pounds when grown. 'Cept for this one."

He sits beside you and goes over the skinny one like he did the other, "Man, never seen a better example of a runt. This one might even have had a different daddy, though it's hard to tell with mixed breeds."

As Carl _puzzles out_ different dads in the same litter, and Paul explains how that can happen, you lock eyes with Daryl, and his indulgent smile _makes you feel so loved_. You motion for him to sit at your other side, and when he does, you lay your head _and the puppy_ against his chest, and continue to fill the eye dropper and slowly squeeze the milk into the pup's tiny throat.  

"Little squirmer," he says affectionately. Stroking a callused thumb over the pup's head, he kisses your forehead, and wraps an arm across your shoulder.  

Just like when he kissed you in front of Michonne back in the pet store, you're _amazed_ at his easy affection in front of others, especially his hunter. Though you're not big on PDA, either, _this is your home, your family, your man._

Michonne reminds you it's time for watch shift, but Daryl hops up, "I've got you. Keep that little Grimes alive."

Any other time you would have argued with him, but you can't leave this little pup until its belly is as _stretched_ as his siblings.

"Thanks," you say, and he nods at you, _eyes twinkling_ , and follows Michonne out the door.  

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

With more residents capable with weapons now, watch shifts have been shortened to four hours, and more people than ever before are responsible for protecting the safe zone. _Rick's idea_. And giving more people the responsibility for _protecting their own_ has made people more aware, _more invested somehow_. You and Michonne are headed back to your home, wondering what's for dinner. _Duck_ , you agree, and know it will be good because Beth is a _genius in the kitchen_. 

"She's a piece of work," Michonne gestures ahead, _and there's Angelica_ , talking to Rick, _her hand on his arm_. You stop abruptly and Michonne comes back a few steps to stand beside you. 

"Don't let her intimidate you," the samirai says in a low tone, but you aren't _intimidated_ , in fact, _some strange sort of power is filling you_ and it's time for the bitch, _the one with her hand on your man_ , to figure out _just who_ Rick belongs to. 

"Call his name," you demand of Michonne. 

"Huh?" dark brown eyes flick to you, confusion clear on her face. 

"His fucking name. Call him."

You _feel_ her give you another strange look, but you're completely focused on your lover's lanky form as she yells out, "Rick!"

When Rick turns, _all lean muscle_ , you walk toward him, lifting your chin, throwing back your shoulders, and letting your eyes glow with every drop of possession you feel for him. _You are a hunter and he is your prey_. Heat surges through you as you see his mouth fall open slightly, his eyes _so hot on your skin_ , and suddenly he's walking back toward you. As you meet, his hands _lift to spear_ through your hair and pull your forehead to his, _blue eyes burning_ as you wrap your arms around his waist _and lift him against your ches_ t. You barely grunt as his hands drop to your shoulders and _so fucking perfect_ his legs snake up to wrap around your waist. 

You don't care _who the fuck_ is watching as you carry him back to the house, climb on the porch, march through the door, and straight up the stairs to your bedroom. 

......

**Rick's Perspective**

It's time for you to make some rounds _people need to see you out there, they beam at you, they need you and you've finally realized the importance of that_ , and it's time to leave the little squirmer _as Daryl calls it_ to snuggle between its litter mates.

You've barely stepped off your porch before Angelica is there. You're not sure if you'll _ever get used to_ how much she looks like Lori, but after interacting with her several times now, the _differences_ between the two women stand out more than the _similarities_. 

"You settling in okay?" you ask, "need anything?"

"It's wonderful here. Everyone is so nice. I never imagined such normalcy as the safe zone could exist in this world," she's smiling prettily at you and you can't _no matter how hard you look_ see what it is that makes Daryl and Michonne _so sure_ she's bad news. 

"Good," you say, nodding, and start to turn away, but she puts her hand on your arm. 

"I was thinking about a school, Rick, for the younger children. To teach reading, math, geography... I taught for so many years and I miss it. And these kids still need to learn those things, not just weaponry and how to kill."

You smile at her _it's a damn good idea_ , "What do you have in mind?"

Angelica barely opens her mouth before you hear Michonne yell, "Rick!"

Your hand on the butt of your python, you turn and immediately _forget_ every thought in your head because Daryl is stalking towards you, _reminding you of a panther you once saw on Carl's 2nd grade field trip to the zoo,_ and he looks so gorgeous, _your Daryl_ so broad and tall, so completely focused on you  _on eating you alive_. 

It's instant, how the desire _hits you_. Your breath starts to pant, but you can't get enough oxygen, and you're dizzy as you turn to him and walk  _like two magnets_ drawn by the animalistic lust tightening your entire body.

 _You need him inside you right fucking now_. 

You forget you're _on the street_ , you forget _whoever_ you've been talking to, forget that Michonne _called your name_. As the distance disappears between you his blue eyes _lit from within_ stab you and you reach your hands straight to his hair, pulling that face _those scorching eyes_ to yours. As he lifts you against his chest his  _eyes screaming MINE_ you know what he wants and wrap your legs around his waist. And then you are sucking at the salty skin of his neck as _he carries you away_.   

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

Carrying him up the stairs, you briefly flash on the _big, stunned eyes_ of Beth and Carl, but then you're falling to the bed, his legs _still around your waist_ and grinding into him. Damn clothes and shit _a machete and a python_ are between you and you cuss as you pull back and _strip them away_ from him. He's _pawing at your pants_ at the same time and finally for the sake of speed, you slap his hands away and rip off your clothes. 

"Now, Daryl, now," he's naked _so scarred and gorgeous_ and you grab the lube to start preparing him as he licks and nips at you wherever he can reach. As many times as you've wanted him, _you've never felt anything like this_ , this need to _brand_ him to crawl _inside his skin_ and become a part of him, so you probably don't spend enough time preparing him before you're fucking into him. 

You're not sure if he's closed his mouth since seeing you on the street, but now you fill it with your tongue as you slam into the tight _too tight_ heat of his ass. He's squeezing you so perfectly, and you have to break the kiss because neither of you can breathe. 

"Mine," you growl as you pound into him, biting and sucking at the skin of his neck and shoulders, marking him, not a drop of gentleness inside you, but his hips are swiveling _so you don't stop the punishing rhythm of your hips_ and then his body is clenching around you _so damn hot_ and pleasure spreads and you're coming inside him. 

After a minute, he takes your face into his shaking hands, "What just happened?"

"We just had the best fuck of our lives," you tell him, and his answering grin has you kissing that beautiful mouth, catching his full bottom lip between your teeth. 

"I don't think I'm gonna be able to walk to do my rounds," but he sounds happy about it _and you refuse to feel any regret_ for the explosive sex you've just had. 

"And you're covered in hickeys."

"So are you."

And then you're both laughing, joking about how in hell you're going _to able to face anyone_ ever again, maybe you'll just stay right here, in this bed, fucking and loving, _for the rest of your lives_. 

 


	16. Led Me to You

**Rick's Perspective**

 

"So dad, are you the girl?" The innocent-sounding question makes you _choke_ on your tea, and as Daryl pounds you on the back, his face amused, you seriously considering punching him. His look is comically expectant _his blue eyes shining_ as he moves to sit by Carl, digging into his breakfast plate, waiting for your answer. 

"We aren't girls," you finally say, "so it doesn't work exactly like a male/female relationship."

"How's it different?" Carl has easily accepted you and Daryl being together, _and since this is the first time he's really asked_ _any questions_ , you want to have an honest discussion. 

"Well, the love isn't different, the desire to be together, and make the other person happy. To share your life with the one you love," you say, and both Carl and Daryl are listening, and it suddenly strikes you that Daryl wants to hear this, too, _wants to understand in much the same way as Carl_. Both rest their chins on their hands, elbows on the table, faces focused on you. 

You take another sip of your tea, "Honestly, son, I never thought much about how men love one another, I remember thinking some other boys were cute when I was young, but once I first saw your mom when I was 15, I was completely loyal to her in every way. From the moment I met Daryl, there was something different there than with other men, than with friends like Shane, but I was still with your mom, so I shoved it down, and I didn't understand it."

"Did you still love her?" 

"Of course I did."

Daryl is starting to look uncomfortable, his giant coffee cup hides his expression, but you can see it in his shoulders, so you steer the conversation back to Carl's original questions, "After your mom died, I was a mess. You saw it. I'm still sorry for it, but I felt like such a failure, but Daryl wouldn't let me be one. He was there for me in so many ways, helping with you kids, taking up my slack around the prison, and over time, I realized that I wanted to be with him, love him, and have him love me.  I realized how much I wanted him, but I was stupid about it for a while, hung up on the idea of two guys."

"So you became gay?"

"I still don't feel that way, I mean it's not like I'm suddenly interested in other guys, just Daryl. It's all about Daryl. But yeah, that's how other people will label our relationship and that's fine. People feel the need to slap labels on things. I get that."

Daryl's eyes narrow into slits, and _for once you can't read the word_ s in his eyes and you wonder what he's thinking, how he's _processing_ what you're saying.

Carl is nodding, "So the sex is different?"

 _Ah shit_. You really don't want to talk about sex, but you respect that Carl is curious. You scrub your hands over the stubble on your cheeks, and see Daryl's looking amused again, whatever was bothering him seems to gone away, but _that amusement_ makes you say, "Daryl might want to explain the sex part to you."

 _Take that_ , you think, and watch a blush flood Daryl's cheeks, and he stutters some sounds for a couple of seconds, "Naw, man, you're doing just fine," stuffing a bite of food in his mouth. _That beautiful mouth_. 

You turn to Carl, "The mechanics of it are a little different, but basically it's the same. I've only ever had two lovers, but I do know this, the love is what's most important.  Sex without love wouldn't be nearly as good, I don't think."

"You like sex with Daryl better?" Both of them wait your answer, for entirely different reasons. Carl because at least a part of him is wanting you to say no, and Daryl because he _knows_ the answer is yes. 

"I can't compare the two, not really, and be fair to your mom," you finally say diplomatically. 

"What about you, Daryl? Were you with other men or women before dad?"

Daryl's face goes blank, and you see that _haunted look_ in his eyes, so you tell Carl, who you know has _heard_ about how possessive you've been, "For my sanity, I can't let him answer that question, Carl."

"Ah yeah," Carl nods, "your jealousy issues. Why do you get so jealous if you know he's with you?"

"I don't know exactly. I do know it's not a good way to act," you say, pinning the old standard _do as I say not as I do_ look on Carl. 

Your son shrugs, "Beth says it's 'cause you and Daryl have an epic love affair."

You grin and Daryl's chin is tucked, _fighting another blush, you're sure_ , "It's epic to me."

Carl nods, "So are you two gonna get married?" and just like that, Daryl mumbles something and is _gone, breakfast plate abandoned._ You hear the front door close quietly behind him _._

You sigh, lean across the table to ruffle Carl's hair, "I haven't asked him yet, but nothing would make me happier. Now finish your breakfast. We have a lot to do today."

...........

**Daryl's Perspective**

You can't get Rick's words _out of your head_. Sure, he said some sweet, loving things about you to Carl _words that curled warmly_ in your chest. And he did imply that he wanted _to spend his life_ with you. But the _I don't feel ga_ y stuff? What the fuck was that? 

When you're fucking him or he's fucking you, you're _pretty sure that qualifies_ as gay. Does he still think of himself as heterosexual? A straight guy  _who just happens to be in love_ with a gay man? You can't put your finger on why this is bothering you so much, _but it is_. 

You're deep in the woods with Adam, Paul, and the two new guys, Wade and Lamont. Though once you're sure of Wade and Lamont's abilities, you'll separate because _even as quiet as the 5 of you are_ , this many men do not make for the silence a _truly good hunt_ needs. Even so, there are so many rabbits strung across everyone's shoulders that you'll probably take tomorrow off. 

A _strange sound_ in the distance has you holding up your hand. You motion to Adam to come with you and the others to stay. Adam is very tall, with lots of long awkward limbs, but he's the _quietest_ of the bunch. The two of you creep closer, and you know Adam recognizes the sound the instant you do. 

 _It's a damn cow_. You meet Adam's amazed eyes and as you cross out of the woods into a clearing, you see her, a beautiful brown and white spotted _impossibility_. There's a walker on her heels, but she's dodging left and right. Unlike the walker _with its seemingly limitless energy_ , the bovine is looking tired. Lifting your bow, you approach the pair, and put an arrow in the walker's skull. 

"Let's go sweet talk that milk jug home," Adam whispers beside you. 

......

It takes forever to get home, you were only hunting about 10 miles from the safe zone, but after the 5 of you struggled to get the cow in the back of the truck _each of you sustaining several kicks_ , you decide to lead her home. Six hours later, it's pitch dark, the truck rolling slowly beside you is almost out of gas _including the extra cans you keep stored in the toolbox._ The cow is exhausted and her nonstop mooing has just about driven all five of you _insane_. All along the way, her pitiful sounds have drawn walkers, but the other four men have taken care of the threat, though once several dozen of the dead lumbered toward you and you'd had to tie off the cow and help the others. All of you are bloody, sore, and exhausted. 

Opening the main gate for Bessy, as Adam has started calling the cow, took another good hour, and it's close to midnight when you finally stumble home. All you want to do is shower and fall in bed beside Rick _your heterosexual boyfriend._ You're going ask him about that shit. But not tonight.

 _So damn tired_ , but you wake up a bit when you notice how funnily Rick's sprawled across the bed, _half of him in the dog bed_ with the puppies. The pups are four weeks old now, and pretty much sleeping through the night, usually in their bed in the floor, but that runt of his probably let out _a tiny whimper or something and needed cuddling_. In the moonlight steaming through the window, you see that yeah, he's all snuggled up against them. Though you love the pups, too, there's no room in the bed for you, _and they have to go._

You gently pull him away to put him on his pillow, and his eyes blink sleepily, voice drowsily loving, "You're home."

"Need a shower but I'll be right back," you kiss his forehead as he mumbles something back. _So stinking cute when he sleeps._  

You wash quickly, and then just stand in the hot shower _that Bessy can kick_ the heat helps ease some of the soreness away, but you feel Rick join you _damn you didn't mean to wake him up_ his hands go straight to your shoulders and you forget the words you were about to fuss at him.

 _Magic hands_ , seeking out every knot of tension and _swirling it away_. Fingers kneed down your spine and you groan loudly. "Shhh..." he says, "you'll wake them up." 

It's still a bit amazing to you how easy it has become to allow him full access to your back. It's an ugly mess, _disgusting_ something you don't even look at _yourself, a mass of nastiness_. When the apocalypse began, you'd been less than halfway through a full back tattoo. Originally you'd told the artist to imprint your back with demons, but one drunken night, you'd told him to add angels, too. You'd actually been on your way to another session when the news reports _of the dead walking_ first began.

Now his hands have slowed _gentled_ and his tongue and lips are licking and kissing across the scar tissue. Nothing will ever heal that mess, but Rick's soft touch _feels_ healing. And you know that his love has changed you, _both softened and strengthened you,_ and maybe the angels were added there for _him_.

His mouth is loving the thick ridge under your shoulder blade and the words pop _almost unbidden from your mouth_ , "Extension cord, wanted to check his aim hitting the same spot. Said I burned his breakfast but I didn't. Damn biscuits were perfect."

Rick is silent behind you, but his mouth _moves to the scars_ under your other shoulder, the ones covered by the tattoo, "Cigarette burns. Liked to put them out, if I made a sound, I'd get another. Learned to be a really quiet ashtray."

Rick's face rubs back and forth across your back, _like he's shaking his head no into your skin_ and you turn to him, capturing his lips, "Hey," you say, seeing the redness of his eyes, the tears in his lashes, "I don't regret my life, Rick. Led me to you."

When he kisses you, you can taste his tears. All of your life pity has pissed you the fuck off _made you insanely furious_ , but Rick's sadness feels completely different somehow and _tastes like love_. You break away and turn off the shower. As you dry off and watch him do the same, you're _so moved somehow_ by his response and keep pausing to kiss his shoulder as he dries his legs, his elbow as he dries his hair, _whatever part of him_ comes into your space. Taking him into your arms, you rub his back and _just this once_ let him be sad for you. 

**..........**

**Rick's Perspective**

Your sadnesses throbs, _like it's become a part of your soul_. You know he just shared almost nothing of the _amount_ of abuse he suffered through, _but it feels like everything_. For the first time, _he's let you in_ , and though you fought the tears that you just knew would probably enrage him, you _couldn't stop them_ from falling, but he doesn't get mad at you. How much has he grown to accept your response? _To try to comfort you after speaking of such horrors_? A small, much younger Daryl keeps flashing through your mind, the abused boy that became the amazing man in front of you, and your heart clenches painfully. 

Stepping over the puppies, you fall to bed, wrapping your arms tightly around one another. You _don't want_ to speak, as though your voice _will diffuse this feeling, that he's opened to you_ , but you can't help but whisper into his neck, "I fall in love with you everyday, all over again."

He leans back to look into your eyes, and the moonlight catches in that deep blue ocean, "I know," and this time you know he means that _he feels the same_. 

After a minute, he tugs away and gives you a strange look. 

"I need to ask you something," he says, "why did you tell Carl you don't feel gay?"

Though you remember saying that, of course, you're not sure what he's asking, "'Cause I don't?" you say, _but it comes out like a question._

"Well, you are," he says, poking his finger into your chest, "we are. Merle fucked with me my entire life about being gay, so let me be clear. You're gay and there's nothing wrong with it and fuck anyone who says different."

 _Oh_. "Daryl, all I meant is that I'm not attracted to other men. Or women anymore for that matter. Just you. You're the only one."

His hair _serves as a curtain_ hiding his eyes, "Still gay."

"Yep," you say, "I am. We are."

He smiles at you, tugging your face back to his neck, "Gay as hell."

He sounds so pleased like he's figured out _a secret to the universe_ , and it makes you chuckle, "You can call me whatever you want."

"Mine is what I call you."

You _grin against his skin_ and hug him tightly against you, "That works, too." Then his mouth is on yours, and you let go of the lingering sadness and show him _just how much you love him_. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, my sweets, this sweet chapter is my present to you all. :) As always, share your thoughts!
> 
> A disclaimer: some darkness is coming, but I leave you with some joy, some insight into this epic love affair.


	17. You're Her Good Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's some dark stuff here, consider yourself warned.

**Rick's Perspective**

You are sitting at the table enjoying some rabbit with Michonne, Beth, Carl, and Judith when Paul knocks on the door. Daryl's hunters have become in a way _sort of_ part of your extended family, and since Daryl left with them before dawn, you look at him expectantly, "What's up, Paul?"

"Just came by to see the pups and check on Daryl."

Ice water in your vines, _shivers of premonition_ , "What do you mean, he's been with you all day?"

Paul's shaking his head,  _confusion pinching_ his weathered face and pats at his pockets, finally pulling out a piece of paper, "A kid brought us this while we were waiting for him at the wall. He's usually the first one of us there, so we figured he must be really sick."

 _Caught some bug. Staying home today_ , the note said.

The panic in you threatens to overwhelm, _oh god, what's happened to him_ , but you shove it down, demanding, "What kid? Daryl didn't write this."

Paul is shaking his head, "To be honest, I barely looked at him. He was wearing a red hat and was 'bout this tall," his hand centers at mid-chest, "you telling me something's happened to Daryl?"

You scrub your hands through your hair and motion to Paul to follow you to the kitchen, "Daryl left before dawn, but a kid brought this," and you hand the note _shaking_ to Michonne, "so he's been missing all day."

Michonne stands instantly _understanding the direness of the situation_ both of her hands grasping your biceps, "We'll find him, Rick."

"Maybe he went to the tanning shed..." Paul starts, but you cut him off. In a _proper_ investigation, all possible scenarios would be explored, _but this was Dary_ l.

"Bottom line," you say, "he didn't write that note."

"Who'd want to hurt Daryl?" Paul demands.

"Oh, I have a good idea," you say, "Paul, go tell Monroe and then the hunters. Your top priority is to find that kid. Michonne, with me now, we're going to see Potts." 

.........

**Daryl's Perspective**

When you wake, you're so groggy _brain full of fuzz_ , that it takes you a minute to realize your mouth is sealed shut, and you're tied up. _What the fuck_? It's hard to think, and as you _tug at the bindings_ on your wrists and ankles, a wave of dizziness almost makes you pass out. _Nausea_. Where are you? Who tied you up? Fucking duct taped your mouth?

For several terrified minutes you can't help yourself as you fight against the ropes. When the pain of your broken and bleeding skin _breaks through your panic_ , you can hear Rick's voice in your head, as clear as if he's standing next to you, "Stop that shit because it's not helping. Calm the hell down and figure this out."

It's hard to think through the nausea. First, you need to take stock. You're naked, laying on some sort of a mattress, and tied up. _How the fuck did you get here_?

The last thing you remember was heading to the main gate for the day's hunt. _Then nothing_.

Thinking back, you remember waking early, happy to have a _few more minutes with Rick_ before starting your day. You'd snuggled against him, and fought the urge to touch his morning hard-on tenting the sheet, and settled for a longer than usual snuggle against him, listening to the beat of his heart. Next, you'd checked on Judith, tugging her pink blanket a _lways kicking off her covers_ over her tiny shoulders. Had a quick, quiet breakfast in the sleeping house, grabbed your crossbow, headed down the dark, silent street toward the main gate... then nothing. 

 _Damn, your head hurts_. And throwing up against the duct tape _would probably drown you in your own vomit_ , so you breathe through the throbbing of your head, the tossing of your stomach, breath huffing in and out of your nose, and then fight the urge _to twist wildly again at the bindings_. The ropes are too thick, the knots too tight. _Fuck_. 

Who has you tied up and why? That confounds you and several more minutes pass _as you rack your brain_ , some people might not like you a whole lot, but enemies? Especially inside the safe zone? That's when you hear the distinctive lilt of Angelica's voice coming from above you. 

It's that bitch and _fuck it all_ Potts' voice, too. You take a minute to slow your breathing and strain to listen, "I'm not sure I can break him," Potts is saying.

"Yes, you can. We've talked about this repeatedly. He will revert. No one survives abuse like that without having some powerful triggers. You just have to find them. He just needs to be tamed again. I know you don't want to rape him, but that's the only way this is going to work."

Potts mumbles _something_ , but the bitch says, "You're not going to win him over in the beginning, regardless of what you do. Leroy and the Reapers will be here in 5 days. This place is nothing without Rick, and he'll be weak and broken without Daryl. Easy pickings for the Reapers. You're the only reason Daryl isn't dead right now. All you have to do is break him. I thought you had a stronger stomach than this, Potts. I can't believe how big you talked, and here you are, acting like a pansy-ass weakling. This is your chance. He's yours now. No one will ever find him here."

Their voices grow distant like they've walked away. 

You squint, _trying to make out where you are_. It's a dark, windowless room, the only light a pale glow from a small lamp on a table about ten feet away. 

Who the fuck are the Reapers? Angelica wants you dead _so Rick will go insane_ , but Potts just wants you, and maybe not just to use your body? Does the sick bastard fancy himself _in love with you_?

What would Rick do in this situation? _He'd make it the fuck out_ , you think, _and so will you_. Just imagining Rick, focusing on how _strong and brave_ he is helps you clear the fuzz from your head.

You can do this. Whatever it takes to get back to your family. _Whatever it takes_. They seem to think you'll be easily broken, _triggers the bitch said_ so that's where you'll start. With their misconceptions.  

........

**Rick's Perspective**

Pott's isn't home, and you almost _tear apart his house_ looking for any clue. No one has seen the man all day, it's like he's disappeared. You, Michonne, and the hunters question the perimeter guard, but apparently no one but the hunters _minus Daryl_ has gone over the wall today. He has to still be inside the safe zone, _he has to be._

You're _barely_ holding onto your sanity, and Michonne is stopping you every so often for a talk, telling you to focus on figuring this out, _that Daryl needs you to hold it together_. Every time she does this, you come back from the brink, but your fears _your_ _terror_ are eating you alive. 

As Maggie runs up to you, eyes brimming with tears, "Come Rick! Found his crossbow!" you follow her to a section of the wall close to your house. Climbing over, you join Adam who's staring down at Daryl's blood-splattered crossbow. You drop to your knees, _pain like knives stabbing you_ , when Michonne roughly grabs your shoulder, "Focus Rick. Find the clues."

As if from a great distance you meet her eyes, _and then slap_ Michonne's palm strikes your cheek, "Snap out of it, Rick, this is not going to help find him."

The stinging pain across your face was _exactly what you needed_ , and you nod briskly at her, and lean closer to examine the blood, and the footprints in the mud, "Adam. One set of prints, right?"

"Yep. And they aren't Daryl's. Man walks on his toes more often than not."

You examine the blood. With no crime lab to test and see if it's Daryl's, you rely on your eyes, "Looks like the blood was shed after the bow hit the ground," you lift the edge of the bow, "see how the blood is only on the bow itself and the ground around it, but not under it?"

Michonne muses, "So someone wants us to think Daryl was hurt badly enough to bleed like this? And if it's not Daryl's blood, where'd it all come from? An animal?"

Besides the _ultra-protected pups_ at your house, there's only one other animal in the safe zone. 

"Bessie," you and Michonne say together.

........

O'neal, an older, white-headed gentleman _who was once a rancher_ was given charge of Bessie, "You know, the old girl has been causing a ruckus all day."

Known for her loud moos, Bessie is kept in a small barn that O'neal covered in sound-proof foam panels because the safe zone _doesn't need her volume_ drawing walkers. As the old man checks over the cow, you examine the panels that cover the walls and the windows. 

"Who has these foam panels? Where did you get them, O'neal?" your brain is working overtime, imagining horrible scenarios where _Daryl's screaming and you stroll right_ by unable to hear him as Potts hurts him.

Michonne's hand tightly squeezes the back of your neck, bringing you back _shuddering at the images_ , and she tugs your face to her shoulder, whispering harshly in your ear, "Rick, let that shit go. Focus."

"Panels come from the house next to mine, guess it was owned by some guy who made them loud rock albums out of his home. And you're right. Yep, Rick, somebody cut the old girl," you break from Michonne and move to O'neal, "looks like they sliced her with a knife on her leg here. Gonna need to take care of that or it'll get infected."

........

Next door to O'neal's, the current occupants of the home inform you that yeah, Potts carted of the rest of the foam paneling _a couple of days_ _ago_. Michonne's strong fingers roughly pinch the skin of your upper arm _hard enough to bruise_ , but allow you to focus on your next step. _Pott's new best friend_ , Angelica. 

.........

**Daryl's Perspective**

Maybe you slept a few minutes, but as a door opens above you, panic returns _to flood a hot path_ through your veins. _Get fucking control of yourself_!

Pott's face appears in front of you, "Hello gorgeous. It's so nice to have you all to myself," as if the two of you are _on a date_ or something. 

You blink hard, swallowing _the revulsion and the bile_ burning the back of your throat, and force your eyes to go blank. It's hard as hell to do with the combination of hate _he repulses you_ and terror _don't fight against the ropes_ filling you. 

His hands are on you, stroking over your chest and your arms and _you want to scream_ behind the duct tape _at least head butt the motherfucker_ so hard he'll see stars, but you focus _all your energy_ on laying still and blanking your eyes. _You'll survive this_ , no matter _what_  the asshole does to you. When his hand reaches for your limp dick, _you can't help_ the full body flinch, but he just laughs and runs his hand all over you. 

It's _almost shockingly easy_ how you find that place in your mind _your escape from pain_ because you haven't been there since you were _an 18 year old runaway_ being raped in a dark, garbage-filled alley, _or a boy_ being sadistically beaten by your father, but the familiarity of the tiny door _feels like home_ and you stumble greedily inside _to your momma_ , to the love shining in her eyes, to milk and warm cookies, to the soft fuzzy blanket _wrapped around your skinny shoulders_.  

A vague part of you is also aware of the man's fingers inside you, stroking your prostrate, and _your body's betrayal of a warm rush of fluid_ as a pleasureless orgasm hits you, but the _majority of you_ is with your momma, sobbing softly against the worn material of her nightgown, and her hands are in your hair. _That other place disappears as she smiles at you_ , whispering it's all gonna be okay and that she loves you, _you're her good boy_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I cried writing some of this. Please don't hate me.


	18. I've Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is rushed, typed and edited in 3 hours, I just couldn't leave you, dear reader, or myself, at the last chapter's ending. So, posting two chapters in one day (if you haven't read the one before this, go back, and I'm so sorry) - I love you all. 
> 
> Ps. Rick saves Daryl.

**Rick's Perspective**

 

As Angelica opens the door, _her Lori-like smile_ dies at seeing the expressions on yours and Michonne's faces, "What's wrong?"

You let Michonne _take the lead_ as you quietly watch the woman's face, and at her protests of _knowing nothing_ about Pott's whereabouts, suddenly _she looks nothing like_ the mother of your children, it's like a _mask_ falls away, and you can see what _Daryl and Michonne_ saw all along.

Angelica's words _don't matter_ , everything is visible in the _outraged widening_ of her eyes, so you interrupt Michonne, pushing the samurai to the side. You grab Angelica by the hair, tugging her head back sharply, _ignoring her cry of pain_ , "You're helping Potts, you bitch, and if you don't tell me where Daryl is right fucking now, I promise you a long, painful death."

Fake tears pour from lying eyes, "I swear, Rick, I don't know anything!"

"Rick!" Adam's voice is behind you, _and you shove Angelica to the floor_ as you turn to meet his worried eyes, "Found the kid."

Looking terrified, a small boy by Adam's side is eyeing you with fear _reminding you of Carl's expression after you gutted that fat fuck who'd tried to rape your son_. Deep breaths, you bend slightly and put your hands on your knees for balance. Michonne's _hand runs briskly_ over your lower back before she leaves you to approach the boy, "I'll talk to him, Rick, focus on getting control."

Once you feel more steady, mentally chanting _Daryl where the hell are you? Are you okay_? you turn to Adam, "Lock this bitch in a cell. We'll be there shortly."

......

The kid knows _little_ , Potts came to him before dawn and asked him to take the note to the hunters. The kid doesn't look at you, but Michonne _works her magic_ and pulls the little details from him. Potts told him to take the note, but not to tell anyone what he'd done. _Paid him with some candy_. The kid is crying now, "I'd never hurt Daryl, honest," and his sadness at his part of this ordeal has you _stepping outside of your own torment_ bending down to meet his bright, green eyes.

"It's okay", you tell him, "you didn't know."

The kid lifts his little chin, "You'll find him, sir. You'll never let anything happen to Daryl."

You know he's trying to reassure you, but his words _carve deep in your broken heart_ because you _have_ let something happen to Daryl.

.........

**Daryl's Perspective**

Your momma is _tugging_ at your shoulder, "Honey, there's someone here to see you," but _you don't want to see nobody_ darn it nobody's ever supposed to be here but _you and her_.

"No," you tell her and your voice _sounds so young and high-pitched_ and there's a hand grasping your other shoulder and _you know that hand_ , the long fingers _pianist hands_ with the blunt nails and small patches of curly hair topping the skin over the knuckles.

 _Rick's not supposed to be here_.

"Whatcha' doing here, Rick?" you ask, looking up into the _very young eyes_ of the man you love _with all your heart and soul_. Except this man is a boy, no older than ten, with bright blue, sad eyes, a full head of fat, black curls, and _beautifully full, too-red lips_.

"I've come to help you," he whispers, stroking a small finger over your cheekbone, _his eyes are burning at you_ , so you turn away and take another bite of your cookie, _still warm_ from your momma's oven.

"Don't need no help, Rick, I'm happy right here. You wanna cookie?" He comes in front of you, _all small, skinny boy_ , and you can't help but giggle into your hand, "You look funny," and you hold out your half-eaten cookie to him.

Rick shakes his head at your offer, curls flopping every which way, _and you_ _eye that candy red mouth_ of his, glance _sneakily_ around the warm kitchen to find your momma's gone somewhere, and ask him sweetly, _like it's a secret_ , "Can I kiss you? You look like you'd taste good."

The boy Rick shakes his head _again_ no, "Come home to me and I'll kiss you for days."

You tuck your chin, "Not going any darn where," you tell him.

His voice deepens, "Remember when you were in that hospital for a while? What that shrink told you?" and you glance up to see Rick's aged, his hair is now cropped close to his head _no hint of his curls_ he looks more like a young man now.

"Fuck that shrink," you say, and your voice is much deeper, too, _meaner somehow_ , "asshole talks too much."

"Yep, he does," Rick nods his curl-less head and _you vow to never let him cut his hair again_ , "but some things he said were good, made you listen."

"Like what?" you demand angrily, "that nothing's my fault? That I never did anything wrong? That's bullshit."

Rick's face morphs again and now he's your Rick _all long curls and shaggy beard_ and a sob hiccups out of you at the sight of him, "You were a boy, Daryl. You were innocent."

"Then why does everyone always want to hurt me?" you ask, feeling the tears fall from your lashes. Then he's kissing them away, _his beard absorbing the moisture_ and you just want to go home with him, lay in your bed _and let Judith and the pups climb all over you both._

"You can't come back here, Daryl, I know this is where you escape, but I need you to help me find you. You're so smart, surely you can figure out someway to show me where you are? I need you so bad, I can't live without you. I'm going to go insane and start killing people without you. Please, baby, please come back to me."

"You won't let anybody hurt me?"

"I'll die first," and you know he _means_ it, his earnest blue eyes _burning into yours_ , "just help me find you."

And _suddenly you're back_ in that dark room, Potts snoring away behind you, and _you seethe with anger_ because his arms are wrapped around you and _nobody but Rick was ever meant to hold you like this_. Your mouth burns _Potts has removed the tape_ and your mouth and the skin around it is raw. You slowly work your cramped jaw, and for a minute the _sore, torn flesh_ of your ass takes your breath _because you know what the fucker has done to you_. 

You can't _wait to watch Rick kill him_. 

.........

**Rick's Perspective**

Inside the jail cell, you _watch_ as Michonne and Maggie _break_ Angelica. The damage to the woman's once-pretty face is _echoed_ on Michonne and Maggie's knuckles, and _all three women_ are splattered with the bitch's blood. _This is taking too long_ , but every time you approach the cell, Michonne points sternly at you, "Back the fuck up, Rick."

You watch _disconnected_ as Michonne slams the hilt of her sword into Angelica's mouth. As the bitch spits out a tooth, you feel nothing, though a part of your mind thinks back _to the naive sheriff's deputy you used to be_. How this beating of an interrogation would have horrified the man you _once_ were. How in this moment _you want to see more of the bitch's teeth_ scattered across the floor.

"Fine!" Angelica suddenly yells, "Potts has him, but I don't know where! I know he's made a special room, but I don't know where it is!"

Michonne's fingers dig into the other woman's face, "Here in the safe zone?"

"Yes," Angelica sobs, "but I don't know where because as stupid as Potts is, he knew Rick would beat it out of me! I thought he was stupid, that you'd never hurt a woman, never allow this! I never thought you'd be such an asshole, Rick!" she screams in your direction, voice _slurred_ at the loss of teeth.

Ignoring Michonne, the words she's saying _the wild back off Rick gesture_ s, you enter the cell and slam your fist into the bitch's head. As her broken face slumps sideways _knocked the fuck out_ you tell Michonne, "Everyone searches. Every fucking one."

 ........

The hunters and the perimeter guard are scouring the wall, searching boxcars and empty tracker trailers. You and Michonne are tearing apart the empty houses, while Maggie and Glenn search the occupied ones. In the fourth empty house _you just know_  he's close and you scream out **DARYL**! with your entire voice. 

Then you hear the faint echo of a gunshot somewhere below your feet, and you and Michonne are _ripping up_ rugs and wooden floorboards.

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

You hear footsteps above, and Rick's _raw shout_ of your name. _Click_. A pistol is under your chin, "Make a sound and I'll kill you," Potts says into your ear.  

But you know. _You know he thinks he loves you_ and he won't hurt you, so you buck wildly against him and then your ears are ringing _fuck it hurts_ with the blaring sound of a gunshot. And then Rick is there, pounding Pott's head into the concrete over and over again, _well past the point the man is dead_ , well past the point the other man could possibly come back as a walker. As Rick continues to beat the smashed pulp of Pott's head, you _croak_ out, "Rick?"

He instantly drops Potts and is at your side, you can't hear him, but you know _feel the panic of his unheard words_  sense his knife cutting the ropes, and then feeling is prickling, slowly returning to your limbs. _And he's gathering you into his arms_ and regardless of the fact that you're still in this room, still on this _shameful_ mattress, _you're home_ , and you sob into his neck. 

........

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so traumatized earlier today, how did I even create evil Potts in my head, but thankfully Rick, as we all knew he would, saves the day, with some very brave help from the man he loves.


	19. Walkers Show No Pity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pain before the healing...

**Rick's Perspective**

He's in your lap sobbing _so brokenly_ into your neck and you meet Michonne's eyes _she's sobbing, too_ , but quietly, and _you don't know how to fix any of this_ as tears roll down your face _you've never been so helpless_.

You hold her eyes, both of you horrified, and you _have_ to get him out of here, "Run home and get him some clothes. Keep everyone away from here."

You want to take off your jacket and put it over him, but his death grip across your shoulders stops you, and you settle for running your hands over the _sticky skin_ of his back.

Though the coppery smell of Pott's dead body disguises the smell of sex that first hit your nose, _you know it's still there_ , staining the mattress underneath you, painting Daryl's skin. You shudder, _the fury in you_ wants to continue beating the man's corpse, but you _can't_ let Daryl go. 

It destroys you to feel him like this, _the feel of sobs_ racking his entire body.

Michonne returns quickly and you know she's ran the entire way there and back. Between the two of you, you try coercing and tugging Daryl to get dressed and finally you let her pull his clothes on as you hold him against you. His tears seem to be dwindling away now, but his eyes have yet to focus on you.

"Daryl, I'm here, I've got you, but we've got to get out of here. Can you walk?" he nods, _his fists scrubbing harshly at his eyes_ for a moment, and then he's standing up, squaring his shoulders, and following Michonne up the short flight of stairs.

On the way to your house, he seems to want to _walk alone_ , but he stumbles and you wrap an arm around his waist, ignoring for now _the flinch that runs through him_. Through your front door, you wave Beth and Carl away from him, and he stomps up the stairs, flinging off his clothing along the way.

As you start to follow him, choking back tears, Michonne grabs your face, pulling your forehead to hers, "Any way you need me, I'm here, you know that."

"I know," and you do, _she's kept you sane_ , and the way she searching your eyes tells you she's still worried about your ability to handle this.

"Go call off the search," you tell her, taking the stairs two at a time.

Daryl's in the shower, standing mutely, face in the spray. You climb in behind him, ignoring the flinch _breaks your heart_ as you run the soap over his skin. You soundlessly gag at the amount of Pott's abuse dried thickly across his lower back and upper thighs, but you shove it down _and focus on washing at all away_. Other than his first flinch, he seems unaware of you, until you run the bar between his cheeks.

"Get out," he whispers.

"Daryl, let me help.."

But he turns to you, screaming in your face, "Get the fuck out."

So you do, and stand _helplessly_ outside the shower, scrubbing a towel across the tears on your face, and the exhaustion of this day drags at you, so you back out, put on some sweatpants, sit on the edge of the bed, and wait.

It seems like an hour passes before the water shuts off, but then he's standing in front of you, _his entire body radiating anger_ , eyes so red you can't even see the blue.

When he falls on you, his tongue stabbing deep in your mouth, _you don't know how to respond_ , so you just let him kiss you as you hold him against you _and take his anger_ , the bites to your lips that sting and bruise.

Breaking away, he reaches in the nightstand _and no you can't_ and tosses the lube at you. You eye him with concern, "Daryl, no, we need to rest, you need to heal..."

"Fuck that. I need to you get him out of me," and as horrified as you are _a part of you understands_. He spreads his legs, and though you've never felt less amorous in your life, you reach to touch him, but the raw and torn flesh against your fingers makes you jerk away.

"Daryl, I can't," and you're crying again, "your body can't. I love you so much, but I can't hurt you anymore. Just let me hold you. Let's just get some sleep."

He glares at you, lips snarled, "Never fucking mind," and rolls on his side, _as far from you as possible_. You tug the covers over him and lay back _so damn helpless_ on your pillow.

You plan some words _in your head_ , how you almost went insane worrying about him today, how much you love him, how you can't live without him, but he interrupts your thoughts, "Don't wanna hear shit from you right now, Rick. So quit thinking."

His voice has softened and in his own way, _he might even be trying to comfort you_.

..... 

You lay awake for hours. King County had a low crime rate the entire time you were a deputy, but you had dealt with several rape cases. From your classes at the academy, you'd learned more than you'd ever learned in the field, but you still feel wholly inadequate when it comes to helping Daryl get through this. You alternate between trying to remember what you learned and fighting rage _the image of firing a bullet between Angelica's eyes_ for her part in this _taking your machete and chopping away bits of her at a time..._

At some point Daryl whimpers, turns in the bed, and then he's wrapped around you _like everything is normal_ and you hold him to you tightly, your tears falling into his hair as you kiss the top of his head over and over again. 

At some point before dawn, you wake, the bed is empty and the door shuts softly. You grab a t-shirt, and downstairs you see him putting on his coat, looking around wildly. 

"Beth cleaned it. It's still on the kitchen table," he stiffens at your words, but stomps into and back out of the kitchen, his bow over his shoulder. 

"They aren't hunting today," you say softly, and approach him slowly. 

He takes two steps toward you and snarls in your face, "Well I am," and then turns to the door. 

"Daryl, I..."

"You what? This ain't got shit to do with you, Rick Grimes," and _his eyes hate you_ as he turns to spit at the living room floor _of his home._

And then he's gone. You fall to your knees, _staring at the glob of spit_ until Beth wraps a blanket around your shoulders and gently leads you to the table, handing you the runt and a bottle as she feeds the other two pups. For a moment, you step _outside of your pain and misery_ and love on the little guy, but then the bottle is empty and you lay the pup to bed. Michonne appears across the table, and as you _blankly_ hold the worry of her gaze, there's a knock at the door. 

It's Adam, twisting his hat, "Daryl came to see me, told me to tell you a group called the Reapers is attacking in 4 days, Angelica's helping them and knows all about it. Said he heard her tell Potts."

Five minutes later, you and Michonne are standing outside Angelica's cell. _And you're gonna kill the bitch_. 

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

You'd knocked out the perimeter guard who tried to argue with you about going over the wall alone. Four of them stood watching you reconnect the hunters' truck, _pity clear in their eyes,_ until you'd screamed at them, "Ain't no fucking freak show!"

You drive with the windows down, the cold air _slapping_ your hair in your eyes, and about 30 miles from the safe zone _way_ _too far away but not far enough_ you stop in front of a group of six walkers. You know you're not thinking straight especially when you take your time killing them _so you can extend time_ staring into _the lack of pity_ in their eyes. 

There are more moans in the distance, so you yell out, "Over here, mutafuckers! Fresh meat!"

And then you're gagging, nothing but bile on your stomach, kicking randomly at the dead scattered around your feet, _but you won't cry again_ , fuck that, "And fuck you, too, Rick!" you scream. 

You don't even remember Pott's using you, and so what? _Been there, done that_. It's gross as hell to think of him touching you, _but you'll live_. What's ripping you apart is everyone's _eyes_ , Michonne, Beth, Carl, fucking Adam this morning, and the goddamn perimeter guard.

And Rick. Gagging behind you in the shower. Weeping hot tears all over you. Not responding to your kiss. Refusing to fuck you _because he's so disgusted by you now._

At least a dozen walkers are shuffling toward you, moaning and groaning, and you toss back your head and _scream with everything you have_ , "Come and get it!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too much pain... I'm sort of like Rick in that I don't know to fix this, but stay with me, I'll sort it out.


	20. It's Not Much, But It's a Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more understanding all around, but still some darkness. And maybe some light.

**Rick's Perspective**

You're listening dispassionately to Angelica's screams. Michonne just _chopped off_ the woman's pinkie, and now Maggie's holding out another finger.

The Reapers are coming. 60 or so men, lots of former military, hardcore apocalyptic survivors, men who do and take what they want. Angelica's _still holding back information, you know_ , and so does Michonne, who raises her knife. 

You feel a tap on your shoulder. Monroe is standing behind you, "Rick, may I speak with you?" you nod, motioning to Michonne to take a break, and follow him outside.

Nervously, Monroe says, "I understand you are trying to get information from that woman, but her screams are echoing through the safe zone. There are children here, Rick, your children, too."

Rage, _do you ever feel anything_ but rage anymore? At the moment, the red haze _coats your thoughts_ , and you grit at him, "Maybe I should soundproof the jail? Like she helped Potts do to that room so we couldn't hear Daryl scream?"

Monroe swallows hard, "Rick, if I'd had any clue Potts was capable of that, I'd have taken him out myself. You'll never know how sorry I am..." a glance _into your eyes_ stops his speech, and he looks away, "look, we can't just become the bad guys. And that, in there, is not what good guys do."

His ignorance _never ceases_ to amaze you, "A group so savage that they call themselves the Reapers, men who'll rape those children frightened by her screams, is on their way here, Monroe. I can't protect those children unless I understand the threat. So you go back to your numbers and let me do my job."

If he replies, you don't hear it as you walk away, straight to the main gate. The guard on the wall above _knows what you want_ , "He hasn't returned yet, sir. I will send word to you if he does. I mean, when, when he does."

You scrub your hands through your hair, _Daryl, please come home. Please don't run away, please let me help you_.

Earlier, you'd spoken with each of the hunters, even the two newer guys, and not one of them _had a clue_ where Daryl might have gone. It's killing you not to go after him _not to blindly search_ and if a small part of you wasn't positive _he'd return to you_ to the family _that was as much his as yours_ , you would be out there. Abruptly, the red haze in your mind turns blue. Sorrow, do _you ever_ _feel anything_ but sorrow anymore?

"Sir?" the guard calls, and you have no idea _how long you've stood there. Or how often you blank away like this_. You watch him motion to another guard to watch his area. He climbs down to you and describes in great detail how Daryl acted this morning.

Before you return to the jail, you go see Adam again. The word would go out, from this point forward, unless people could handle their pity, _they weren't to even look at Daryl_. 

......

**Daryl's Perspective**

Hours later, you've taken out _more walkers than you can count_. Probably the equivalent of a herd if you grouped them all together. As the last walker sneaks up behind you, you barely avoid his gaping jaws. For a second, _you almost let it bite you_ , then your knife is in its skull.

 _Do you want to die_? After all you've lived through, Potts and the evil bitch _are the ones who'll break you_? You're just gonna _abandon_ your family and leave them _unprotected_?

The walker killing was better therapy _than that shrink_ all those years ago and you've come to some realizations. You can handle anyone's stares, you've been doing it all your life _won't be fun_ but so what? 

It's been awhile since Merle cackled laughter in your mind, and you embrace the sound, though by habit you say, _Shut the hell up, Merle._

 _Get your weak ass up, little brother. Fuck them people_. 

You listen for more, but Merle has _faded away_ , and you suppose it's a good thing. It's not like Merle was known for giving you stellar advice. _Not a soul in this world cared_ about Merle's death except for you, and though you understand why, you'll _always_ miss his ignorant ass.

 _You've got Officer Friendly now. You don't need me,_ Merle whispers, and he _actually sounds happy_ for you somehow. You look up at the fluffy clouds hanging low in the blue sky, listening for your brother, but this time, Merle's really gone _._

You know he's right. No one's _ever loved you_ like Rick loves you, and _you've_ never loved like this. Rick is the best thing that's _ever_ happened to you in your whole sorry life  _and you can't lose him_.

 _Damn_ , you sigh deeply, huffing some quick, steadying breaths in and out of your lungs, Rick's going to want to fucking  _talk_ through everything, _work out feelings and shit_. And though you loathe the idea of that, you'll do it if that's what Rick needs to get through this. You shake your head at the sky, _fucking feelings_.

Maybe he'll never want you sexually again, but in time, _you'll remind him_ what ya'll had. You have to make him remember how good it could be, just the two of you. _And you will, damn it_. In time, you'll get him _back to the point_ where he's wrapping his legs around your waist in the middle of the street. _Like hell you'll let Potts win_. 

When you'd first opened your eyes this morning, _sprawled across him like normal_ , you'd spent some time marveling that Rick has _replaced_ your mother in your secret room. After she'd died in that fire, it had been fairly easy to take your favorite memory of a warm kitchen and cookies _and turn it into a place_ where you could escape. A place where she remained forever _young and loving_ , always wanting you to stay. But Rick  _hadn't_ let you. He'd forced you to leave and then _like you'd known he would_ he'd rescued you.

But then the memory of _that look_ in his eyes, _that unending sadness_ , had you peeling away from him and dressing quickly. _Outside_ , you'd had to get the fuck outside. And you'd yelled at him, blaming him for the fury inside you. _He hadn't deserved it,_ and you'd make it up to him. 

 _Now you have a plan_. You just won't meet his eyes for a while. Or anyone's. You'll ignore the pity, the same way you ignored your classmates, the handful of teachers or neighbors who'd actually noticed, that shrink...  

And the Reapers are coming, so there's no time _for all this stupid drama_. 

Time to go home. 

......

**Rick's Perspective**

The bitch has lost two fingers now, and Michonne _who's looking a bit possessed_ , is menacingly unbuttoning Angelica's shirt, promising a breast is next, and a low, _almost evil_ laugh greets Angelica's struggles. You _can't_ let her go that far, not that you give a fuck about Angelica, but because you can't let _Michonne_ go that far. 

"Michonne!" you call and the dark brown of her eyes is almost lost to madness, "go get something to eat. Take a break for a while," she holds your eyes for a moment, fighting for dominance _so bloodthirsty your heart aches_ , and then she nods. Maggie looks _just as insane_ and you've wonder if Monroe may be right, that this is _too far_ for the good guys. 

As the two exit the cell, you watch Michonne lock the door and pocket the key, and you know that she doesn't want you to go in there _for the same reason_ you want her out. 

"Go to my house," you tell them both, "go sit at the table with Beth. Go hold Judy, listen to her laughter and rock her to sleep. Step away from this for a while. She's not going anywhere."

For a moment after they leave, _you just stand and listen to Angelica's sobs_ , "You could make this all go away by just telling us what we need to know."

"Fuck you!" she screams, and you sigh because she's _still_ not broken. 

From behind you, "Sir? You told us to tell you. Daryl's back," and then you're running to the wall, he's climbing down, _and you can breathe again_. A wave of weakness hits you, and you sway slightly. _He's back_. He's staring blankly ahead, ignoring everyone around him, _but they are studiously ignoring him too_. 

As he turns to head toward your house, you fall into step beside him. It's a silent walk, no eye contact, but _slowly_ the distance between you closes from several feet to _a few inches_. 

On the porch he stops, and the blue of his eyes _burns you_ through his hanging hair. He's covered in walker guts _pretty much head to toe_ and he's never looked more handsome, "Hey," he says. 

"Hey," you reply and then _out of nowhere_ , a smile blooms across your face, _so happy he's here in front of you_. 

His lips quirk, "Need a shower."

"I'd say so," you agree and watch as he walks inside and heads up the stairs. 

It's not much, _but it's a start_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me. I think all survivors would be a little crazy in a ZA, but I'm trying to stay as true to character as I can. Share your thoughts.


	21. Finding Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys heal a bit more.

**Rick's Perspective**

You want so badly to follow Daryl up the stairs, but _force yourself to leave him alone_ to go to the kitchen. Beth's there, Judith on her slim hip, stirring a pot on the stove.

"Da da!" and everything _melts away_ as you take the baby, bury your nose into her sweet-smelling hair, and feel those tiny arms _wrap so tightly_ around your neck. Beth leans in, wide blue eyes questioning, and you stroke a thumb across her cheek, "He's taking a shower. Looked like he was wearing a walker."

She nods, "All that matters is that he's home," and she briefly rests her forehead on your shoulder before turning back to the stove. 

"I sent Michonne and Maggie to you. Where are they?"

"Glenn was already here, so he and Maggie decided to go home and get some rest. He's not happy about, you know," she wiggles her fingers in the air, "then I fixed Michonne some stew and she wanted to take it home with her. She didn't look too good, Rick," Beth finishes in concern. 

"I know," and you've got to do a better job of taking care of Michonne, _she's always there for you_ , always. One thing is for sure, you're not going to let her torture any more information out of Angelica today. 

"In fact, if I didn't know her so well, she would've terrified me. Her eyes, well, they weren't right, Rick. She didn't even look at Judith."

"I know," you say again, "I'm gonna fix it," and Beth tosses you an exasperated look, eyes clearly saying _you can't expect to fix everything, stupid man_. It reminds you so much of your own mother, _god rest her soul_ , that you send Beth a smile and shake your head, "not gonna let her back in there."

Beth nods in understanding and then turns quickly at the sound of Daryl's footsteps on the stairs, her expression so sad, and your heart leaps to _warn her_ , but then he's in the doorway and her face shows nothing but joy as she runs to hug him.

 _Never should have doubted her_ , you realize and over her shoulder, the blue of Daryl's eyes meet yours hard, but only for a second, then he's rocking her back and forth. Watching them, you almost feel _like you're intruding_ , so you take Judy over to the corner of the kitchen and plop her in the dog bed with the puppies. They immediately start wiggling _man they are getting big_ and Judy squeals in excitement.

"Look da da! Look!" and you do look, but you realize she's talking to Daryl now. The baby is pointing at the puppies, grinning at Daryl, who's bent down by your side, scratching the runt, and your heart _squeezes_ at the proud, but surprised, look on his face.

"Hey da da," you say and he nudges your shoulder with his and lightly scoffs, a half-hearted protest at your teasing. He doesn't meet your eyes, but he definitely stares into Judith's, "How's my girl?" and as she babbles happily, you leave them to sit at the table. 

"Don't you think it's 'bout time you named them?" Daryl tosses over his shoulder, but his eyes are unfocused, looking at your chin most likely. 

"Fathead, Thunder Thighs, and Squirmer," Daryl says to Judy, "what do you think of those, Judith?"

"Sounds good to me," you say, fighting against _the wrongness_ of all the normalcy in your kitchen, but Daryl scoffs at Judy, "Naw, your dad's gonna name them. Least by the time they turn a year old."

Beth hands you a bowl of stew, and you smile, _but it feels fake_ , so you force the feeling away and eat, the sounds of Daryl and Judy playing with the pups slowly soothing you, and your head nods sleepily.

"Rick, go rest for few minutes," Beth says, but you shake your head, both at her and to wake yourself up.

"Too much to do to waste daylight hours," you say, and then Daryl's sitting beside you, Judith in his lap.

"Tell me about the Reapers," he says and so you do, recounting in great detail the intel Michonne and Maggie have tortured out of Angelica.

"Damn," he says, and though he doesn't meet your eyes, his shoulder leans against yours _so comforting_ and then his arm reaches behind you to rub the sore muscles of your neck, "do they have military weapons and vehicles?"

"Still working on getting that information," you tell him, leaning into that magic hand. It's not just the massage, it's the easy touch _as though nothing has changed_. As though yesterday hadn't even happened. Your mind's eye sees him again _tied up and violated_ and for a moment you see red, but then he's tugging your face into his neck. The scent of soap never masks his own scent _Daryl_ and you breathe deeply, the red fading away. 

"Just a little while, boys, both of you need it," Beth's taken Judy and is sternly eyeing you and Daryl, "Go rest. Carl's off teaching combat to the kids, and Judy and I have a play date. You've got a quiet house to yourselves. The Reapers may be coming, but they're not here now. Go," she's making shooing motions with her hands and Judy's little hands mock the movement, "take care of each other."

Daryl stands, so you do too and follow him up the stairs. He's taking off his shirt and reaching for his belt and you _can't help_ the apprehension flooding you, so you stare at the floor and slowly unbutton your shirt. 

Of course he senses it, "Just gonna rest, Rick, like we always do. Keep your clothes on if you want." His voice is calm and so light, but you know him too well, _and you've hurt him_. Again. 

Replies pop into your head, but as you strip off the rest of your clothes, you decide _to keep your mouth shut_ because no matter what you say, he could take it wrong and the last thing you'll do is hurt him again. This time yesterday you were in an insane panic, so terrified, but now you've got him back, and you're not going to fuck this up. 

But then he's standing in front of you _so beautifully alive_  examining your arms in concern, "Where the fuck you get all these bruises?"

Both of your arms are colored in wounded flesh, and for a second you think about lying, but tell him, "Michonne had to bring me back a few times." You feel him looking at your face, but know if you look back, his eyes will skip away and damn it hurts, but it hurts you _for him_. 

"A few?" he scoffs at the dozens of pinch marks and then pulls you to the bed. He settles on top of you, arm flung over your waist, leg tossed over yours, face buried between your shoulder and neck. _It's so perfect_ and a feeling you'd been unsure you'd ever experience again, so you allow yourself to sink into it, sink against the strong warmth of his body and the mattress beneath you. Your worry disappears _Daryl Michonne the Reapers_ and you've never been more comfortable in your life as sleep tugs you away. 

........

 **Daryl's Perspective**  

You know that the rest of the world wouldn't understand, but you can't help staring at the bruises on his arms and finding them romantic, _perhaps the most romantic thing you could imagine_. A testament to how much he loves you. They stand out in your mind's eye like those bullet wounds you watched slowly heal, when you'd laid beside his unconscious form for hours on end, marveling _even in your pain_ that he'd strode through bullets because he thought you were dead. 

Until you saw those swirls of color up and down his arms,  _damn Michonne can pinch,_ you hadn't thought about what Rick might have felt yesterday, not only while he searched for you, but when he found you. You try to switch yourselves in your mind, him missing, held captive, and then finding him as he found you, but you can't _your mind refuses to go there_ , too unnerved by the thought of anyone hurting him. 

You nuzzle into his neck, and in his sleep, his hand threads through your hair and he hugs you to him.

For the next half-hour you let him rest while you repeatedly twine one of his curls around your finger. There's a few strands of grey in the curl, and more apparent in the stubble on his cheeks, and you try to imagine him as an older man with Hershel's long, white beard. The thought makes you smile a little because you'll still find him sexy, no matter how old you both grow. You want him to have a long life, to one day hold his grandchildren to his chest the way he holds Judy. Maybe Carl will step into his leadership role and you and Rick can retire, and that thought has you grinning because you can't picture that _either of you_ will ever be able to sit still and do nothing. 

Suddenly a weight falls from your chest and you lean up to look down at his sleeping face, so relaxed and unlined, looking more like the young man you met in your safe place than the 43 year old he is. It hits you, the truth, smacks you in the heart and takes your breath. It's what you've known  _but haven't really allowed yourself_ to acknowledge. Rick will never leave you, he'll always be by your side, he'll never abandon you, and he'd _scorch the earth_ just to get you back where you belong, next to him. 

You wake him with a kiss, gently pressing your lips to his and nibbling softly on his lower lip, almost overcome with emotion. _It weakens and strengthens you_. As his eyes open, you hold his, blue on blue, and then he's kissing you back, just as softly. Your hands, as they begin to caress him, have none of their normal urgency, and he touches you back just as slowly. And this, you realize, is not sex, _it's making love_. 

A part of you knows to keep it simple, so you maneuver yourself on top of him, line your hardness beside his, and just rock your hips, never breaking the sweet kiss. Your hands are in his hair, and his rub your back and down your sides to your hips, where he holds on. You have no idea how much time passes until he's gasping into your mouth and you're coming between you.

This is perfection.  

This is love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been lax at posting this, trying to decide whether to break it from the upcoming action, but I finally decided to let this part stand on its own. I love everything you have to say, so please share your thoughts.


	22. Destroyed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next 30 minutes after the last chapter, a pause before the storm. And hot sex (because I love you!) and their love demands it.

**Rick's Perspective**

Daryl's still sprawled across you and his weight _feels like an anchor_ keeping you here in this moment. Dark times are about to toss the safe zone, but for now, you lay comfortably before the storm. Lifting his head, he glances at you quickly before the deep blue darts away. 

His breath whispers across your chest, "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," you say, and rest your lips against the top of his head, a continuous press of a kiss. 

"Why did you fall in love with me?" his words so soft you almost miss his question. 

You pause in surprise, and you want to gather your thoughts, but words pour out _and you listen to yourself_ in much the same way he does, "Your bravery first, always stepping out to risk yourself for our group. How you provided for us, making sure we ate and had warm clothes and blankets. How in synch we were, regardless what we were doing. How natural and comfortable we are together. The way you are with my children. Your heart and gentle soul, hidden behind your gruffness. That even though life hadn't been kind to you, you are a good man."

"Hmmph," he's nuzzling your chest, but it's a pleased sound, and he's never let you compliment him before and you're not wasting this opportunity. 

"And you're gorgeous, just looking at you made me hard as a rock. I'd catch myself staring at your mouth as you talked. You were always chewing on your thumb or a piece of grass and I'd imagine what you might be able to do with that mouth."

"Not gorgeous."

"You are to me. Always have been from the first moment I saw you. After the CDC, you remember when we stopped at that campground for a few weeks? That deep creek we bathed in? I hid in the trees and watched you."

"No you didn't, I'd've heard you."

"Yes I did. I was coming down there to bathe and you were swimming under water. You looked liked a giant frog, your legs anyway, and I dropped into the foliage like some peeping tom and just watched you swim. I'd never seen anyone so sexy in my life. When you swam up to the shallows and stood up real fast like, I couldn't breathe. I didn't even know what sexy was until then. Water was streaming down your body and you were nothing but lean muscle. And then you reached up to squeeze the water out of your hair and your arms and shoulders were all bunched up, and I almost came in my pants."

His hand gently pushes at your waist in protest, but he asks, "That's when you decided you wanted me?"

"Oh, I already knew, but after that I had an image to jack off to."

He chuckles, "Before you returned from the dead, I had a crush on Shane."

"What?" you say, and the instant jealousy of your dead friend is _ridiculous, you know_ , but it courses through you anyway and you tighten your arms around him.

"Tell me you were never attracted to the man."

"I wasn't!" you deny, "I mean, I knew he was a good-looking guy, but I never thought about another guy's mouth until you. I never even fantasized about a guy until you threw squirrels at me."

He makes a sound like he's not sure he believes you, "When Merle and I first joined the camp, Shane didn't have on a shirt. That man had abs for days, and that chest, and he kept flexing as we followed him into camp. I was so busy staring at him I don't even know what he said. I wouldn't have acted on it ever, he wasn't my type, and then after a few days of listening to him, his assholeness was the only thing I could see."

The jealousy dissipates, "He did have nice abs."

Daryl trails his fingers across your stomach, "Yours are better," and blood is quickly flowing away from your brain as he asks, "so when did you decide you wanted to fuck me?"

"I always knew, even in the beginning, but I never would have acted on it if you hadn't given away that you wanted me too."

"Bullshit. I didn't give shit away. I hid so deep I barely even knew."

"Uh huh," you chuckle softly, "you spent a lot time staring at my mouth too. And my ass."

"Did not."

"And one time I caught you sniffing me."

"You did not!"

"Yes I did. You were standing behind me and your nose was almost touching my shoulder. I stood really still because I thought I might be imagining it, but then you sniffed my hair, too."

"You made that up."

You can't stop smiling, "And you were always giving me a hand up from the ground and then holding on a bit longer than necessary."

"I can't believe I'm laying here listening to this nonsense," he huffs, but both of you are enjoying this. 

"Then that time you and T-Dog found those bottles of whiskey? And we were sitting around the picnic table at the prison?"

"What? I wasn't so drunk that you can rewrite history here, Rick."

"You came and sat beside me and even though there was plenty of room, you were all pressed against me. You couldn't have gotten a sheet of paper between our thighs."

"Okay, maybe I remember that."

"And Beth started teasing you about something and you stood up. Your dick was in my face and you had a massive boner, so I tried to get you to do some more shots, but no, you had guard duty, and all I wanted to do was get you drunker and take advantage of you."

"But you kept drinking and passed out at the table. I had to carry your heavy ass to bed and you kept hugging on me."

"Did you let me?"

"Hell yeah. But you're a sloppy drunk."

"Did you sneak a kiss?"

"Nope. Might have touched your hair, though."

"Might have?"

"Might have smelled it, too."

His fingers are still tracing your abdominal muscles and his leg is rubbing over yours. You feel his lips caress your chest, _and it's all so sexy_ , but this moment isn't about sex, "Why did you fall in love with me?" you ask softly. 

"Because you're everything I ever dreamed of. Wait, that's not right. You're so much more than I could have imagined dreaming of."

 _God, you love him_ , so you tug his head back and show him all of the emotion in your eyes, and melt when he holds your gaze. You've missed his eyes, those windows into him, and you gently press your forehead to yours, "I love you."

 ......

**Daryl's Perspective**

His eyes are so intense, _just like the way_ he loves you. His reasons for why he fell in love with you are his truth, and it confounds you _that you need words_ because you've never trusted what falls out of a man's mouth. Rick, though, he's proven to you time and again that his words are his actions. He's the best man you've ever known. _And he's yours_.

But there's an elephant in the room, and Rick, in some form of overprotectiveness, will ignore that giant presence for your sake. _Damn fool man_ would do anything for you, but you need the words. You need him to know.

"I don't remember what Potts did," you ignore his quick inhale and the _sudden_ trapped look in his eyes. He looks like that because he's scared _you're_ not ready to talk about this, and hell, it may be too soon for him, too, but there's too much going on outside of this to let what happened take up any of his focus.

"When my mom was alive, my daddy was always a mean ass, but when she died, he went from beating me 'cause I'd done something to beating me 'cause he liked it. Had a shrink once call me a 'classic victim' and say shit like 'coping mechanisms' all I know is that I created a place in my head I could go when things got too bad. Called it a 'safe place'. Until he told me that, I thought I was the only one crazy enough to be able to escape into my own head."

You continue to hold his eyes, this time easily handling the pain he's feeling because you know _he would take all of your life's pain inside of himself if he could_ , take every bad experience you've ever had and wear them on his shoulders.

"So I don't remember. I mean I know it happened, but I wasn't there, not my mind. As a 'coping mechanism'," and you do little air quotes, "it's a good way to avoid stuff."

Rick's nodding, but he's still looking at you like you're fragile, so you add, "I ain't no different, Rick, so you can't keep acting like I am." 

You decide not to give him time to think and climb on top of him, "I'm gonna fuck you now," and reach into the nightstand.

"Whatever you need," he breathes, _and just like that_ , he's as aroused as you are. You spend a couple of minutes prepping him as he pants and bears down on your fingers. He's always so tight, and _feels like silk_ around your fingers. He's panting up at you, moaning little sounds, and for once the house is empty so you let him.

"Tell me what you want," you say, lining up with his entrance, "tell me."

"Fuck me, Daryl, please fuck me," but you hold back for a minute.

"You gonna quit looking at me like I'm broken?"

His head is tossing on the pillow, "Yes, whatever you want, just do it."

The skin around the tip of you is _fluttering_ as he clenches his inner walls, trying to pull you into him.

Seeing him like this, a begging mess beneath you, slays you. Just this morning you'd wondered if he could want you again, and as a litany of pleas _pour from his mouth_ , you know you were wrong. Grasping his hips to hold him still, you barely sink the tip of yourself inside of him. 

"More!" he shouts and you grin, slipping a little more in, "deeper Daryl!"

When you do slam home, he shudders wildly, but his muscles relax around you. You are about to start slowly fucking in and out of him when he _suddenly_ pushes you out, and flips over your bodies. With knees on either side of your hips, he rises up, lines his ass up with your dick and slowly fucks himself down on it.

You've never fucked in this position before, _never even thought about it_ , and now you're the one who's a mess. You can only lay there, your mind _blown_ , as he presses his chest to yours and rides you, his dick rubbing _like hardened silk_ between your stomachs, as his ass clenches you like a vice. His hands are tugging your face up to stab his tongue deep into your mouth. Pleasure consumes you, _becomes_ your very existence, the roll and pull of his body, as he milks you. As he destroys you. 

And this time, you are the one screaming _his_ name. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought some more connection between our boys was important before moving on to the next action sequence. And goodness, their sex is always hot, so I don't see any of you complaining. :)
> 
> I have a question for those of you who may be more experienced with this site than I am. The very lovely MrsEC2701 has created a photo edit for this story, but I don't know how to add it. Can any of you offer advice? I started reading something about skins and embedding, but my eyes crossed and my brain refused. 
> 
> And if you're interested, follow my girl on twitter @Rickyllovers and ask her about our tiny FB group where we worship Rickyl.


	23. Haircuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys have some "feel good" time, Angelica breaks down, and the safe zone meets to prepare.

**Daryl's Perspective**

You can't stop looking at Rick, you're so hyper aware of his presence walking next to you, and it amazes you that you're sporting _another_ hard on, god knows _he drained you earlier._ Regardless _,_ every cell in your body still seems _aroused_ , like you're one big nerve-ending. Sex with Rick is always _amazing_ , but something about the way he'd just had you, rode you into the bed, into oblivion, fucking took over your world...

You'd laid in a _stupor_ for 10 minutes after he'd slid off your body, _stunned stupid_ , your face stuck in a huge, dopey smile. Every time you'd pulled your lips into their customary line, that damn smile came right back. Finally you'd forced yourself to follow him into the shower, your legs quivering, and as he stepped out to grab a towel, he'd tossed you the proudest grin, _so full of himself_ that your smiles quickly grew into chuckles. And then you'd both started laughing, holding onto one another for balance, neither of you able to catch your breath, slipping and sliding off one another until both of your wet, naked asses landed on the bathroom tiles, practically sobbing on each other's shoulders, happy tears streaming down your faces.  And then came the kisses, slow and loving, lasting so long neither of you had need of a towel in the end. And then you'd watched him shave, leaning up to kiss each smooth reveal of skin, unable to stop touching him, pressing your lips against his flesh. 

When you'd gone downstairs and joined Michonne on the couch, she'd laughed at your expression, the damn smile almost cramping your facial muscles, "Shit," she said, "that must have been good," you'd tried again to wipe it from your face, but when Rick strutted, _yes strutted_ , out of the kitchen, you'd blinked, and without the slightest thought to your audience, found yourself with his ass in your hands as you slammed him against the wall and kissed him hard and deep, biting at those lips and sucking at his tongue.

"Hello? While I'm not one to turn down a free porno, we've got shit to do, boys," Michonne said dryly, and you'd forced yourself to step away and not _drag him back upstairs_ like you wanted to. It had taken almost all of your willpower just to get your hands to unlock from his ass. _That ass_. 

Now the three of you are headed for the jail and you can't take your eyes off of him, in your mind's eye you see him on top of you, riding you, grinding down, blowing your fucking mind. He's always trying to say you're gorgeous, but in those minutes he'd been the gorgeous one. _And who the fuck are you kidding_ , you think as he tosses you another pleased-as-shit smile, he's gorgeous right now.  

When Michonne stops, you only notice because _he suddenly stop_ s. She's smiling and shaking her head, "Look, I'm happy that you two are on some sort of fantastic love high, I am, and even though it's also funny as hell to see you two all whipped over each other, I get that you need it right now. You've both been through so much that it does my heart good to see you like this," her smile slowly hardens, "but you need to snap the fuck out of it. These Reapers are bad news, horrible men, and they are headed here to attack the safe zone. And that bitch knows more that we need to know."

Her words are the equivalent of a bucket of ice water over your head, bringing you _harshly_ back to reality. She's right. When you meet Rick's eyes, all flirtation is gone, and your leader nods his head. 

His hard blue eyes meet the dark brown of Michonne's, "You're right. Let's do this."

"Want to talk to her by myself first," you inform them, and though Michonne starts to protest, Rick lays a hand on her arm. 

"She's all yours," Rick says, "Michonne and I will wait outside."

At the jail, you hold out your hand and Michonne reluctantly hands you the cell key. You met Rick's eyes, and even though he's in leader mode, you lean forward to lightly tap your forehead with his. His eyes _believe in you_ , and he nods in support before you enter the jail, closing the door behind you. 

Damn, _Angelica looks rough_ , so much so that you can no longer see a resemblance to Lori. 

"Well look here," she rasps, blood caked around her mouth, "Rick's little bitch, all safe and sound."

"Yep, that was a little hole in your plan. You underestimated what he'd do to get me back."

"I hope Potts at least got to tear that ass up a few times before Rick found you."

"Nope," you lie, remembering the conversation you heard between Angelica and Potts, "he wanted me to love him. Wanted me to want him too."

"Ugh! What a fucking idiot, huh? As though he could win you over Rick. Stupid Potts!" her eyes are gleaming at you, almost in a companionable way, as though the two of you are friends discussing a third, stupid friend. 

"Yeah," you say, totally willing to play that game, "you didn't make the best choice of a sidekick."

"Well, in my defense, it's slim pickings around here. Rick's like some sort of god to these people..." she's droning on and on about the different people she befriended in an attempt to find a helper in her plot. You nod, but what you're really doing is studying her. Even beaten and bloody, she's _still_ a striking woman. Her smile is a little different, more close-mouthed, but she's managed to compensate for her missing tooth. Her hand with the missing fingers is clutched to her chest, and you know she plans to use it for sympathy in the future, hell, she will probably hold it there to draw attention to her impressive breasts.

Her hair, though, that long chestnut-colored crown, _still looks perfect_ , and as she talks, she combs her fingers through it, arranging pieces to fall over her shoulder, spinning the ends around the fingers of her good hand. 

She eyes you expectantly as you leave the front of her cell and start searching through desk drawers, "Is that black bitch or the farm girl coming back? Did you see what they did to my fingers?" she holds up her mutilated hand, "Doesn't matter. They can cut off my whole hand, but I won't be telling anyone shit."

"Maybe," you say, as you find what you're looking for, "or maybe not."

.......

 **Rick's Perspective**  

You stand beside Michonne outside the jail and it's killing you to let him do this. There's no way the woman could physically hurt him again, but she could easily say something...

This afternoon had been magical, between the joking and the sex, you'd felt closer to him than ever, and back before the apocalypse, a couple would have been able to ride that feeling, of being so in love you were giddy, but these days such a distraction was a luxury. _And one you couldn't afford_.

"He's gonna be okay, Rick, trust me. You're not gonna allow him to be anything but okay," Michonne nudges your hand with hers, "I really didn't want to say anything, but I had to..." her voice trails away.

"Hey," you say, remembering your earlier concerns about _her_ , "you were right. We did need to snap out of it."

"You shouldn't have had to," and she's glaring at the door of the jail, "you two should still be snuggled up and ignoring the world."

"In an ideal world, yeah, but that's not where we live. We took the time we needed and the rest will only sort itself out in time. It didn't break him, he's too damn tough for that. Did you check on the fortifications?"

"Yeah, and doubled the watch shifts. Have you checked out Carl's kids lately?" there's a touch of pride in her voice, "they are amazing."

"Another fucked up thing about this world, child soldiers, but yeah, it's impressive what all he's taught them."

You eye her for a minute, "I've been worried about you."

"Me?" she laughs, but the sound rings hollow, "you and Daryl were the ones who need the worry, not me."

You take her chin in your hand and turn her eyes to yours, "I know I don't tell you this enough, but you're my best friend. You're my rock. And I love you and it fucking worries me to see you like you were today."

"I worried myself."

From inside you can hear the muted sound of Angelica sobbing, and though part of you is glad Daryl's getting this _chance to confront he_ r, another part of you hopes he doesn't do anything he'll regret. Though you'd love to see him take out some vengeance on the bitch, _that's simply not who Daryl is_. You think back to Hershel's farm, to Randall, when Daryl had worked over the kid, the way his actions seemed to kill the light inside of him for a while. 

"No! Don't, please don't," you hear Angelica scream inside, and then her words become garbled and indistinct. 

 _Fuck this_ , you think, reaching for the door, but Michonne hugs you from behind, "No Rick, he'll come get us when he needs us," she rests her chin on your shoulder, and you release the door handle, sagging back into her embrace, listening to the sound of Angelica's blubbering. She's talking more to Daryl than she ever did to Michonne and Maggie. _That's something_ , you suppose, but what hateful things are spewing from that bitch's mouth?

......

**Daryl's Perspective**

You've probably only cut about 10 strands of hair, but you know she's probably screaming louder now that she did when Michonne chopped off her fingers.   _Vanity is a crazy thing_ , you think.

You grab another chunk of hair, and just like that, she's completely broken. You listen carefully, adding in a few questions, but mainly just gathering the information the safe zone needs to know about the Reapers. When she starts repeating herself, you decide you've heard enough. 

As you leave the cell and lock the door behind you, she blubbers, "It should have worked. Rick would have been broken, but fucking Potts messed it all up!"

"Never should have taken on Rick Grimes," you tell her, and you eye her with a touch of sympathy, "like a lamb trying to eat a tiger."

"Fuck you! Fuck all of you!" she screams, but you are done listening to her.

Outside, Rick's concerned eyes _search_ yours, but whatever he sees on your face has him nodding, "You get what we needed?"

"Yeah, let's go home so you can write it all down and plan out our actions."

........

The community hall is full, except for the perimeter guard, who are being briefed individually by your hunters. Per Rick's request, you stay with him, and even though you're not happy being around such a _press of humanity_ , no one seems to be paying any attention to you. In fact, the majority seem to be working hard _to ignore you_.

 _Rick_. Did the damn man threaten lives if some one made you uncomfortable? You aren't mad though, instead you feel loved, protected. It's a strange feeling, knowing that everyone knows, but will play pretend because Rick fucking said so.

As he and Michonne step on the stage, a hush falls over the room. A strange feeling _flutters_ inside of you and you realize that you are _proud_ , proud of the leader he's finally accepted himself to be, and proud of these people who both respect and appreciate him.

"A group of at least 60 men, mainly former military, will be here in three days. Three spies were sent ahead, but we sent two away. After interrogating the third spy, we've learned the Reapers have military vehicles, modified Hummers, major artillery like grenade launchers, and weapons galore. In theory, they are posed to take out the safe zone, but we've learned an important bit of intel. They want to take the safe zone for their own, they don't want to destroy it. And the fact that they don't want to destroy our walls is our strength and their weakness. Over the next three days, we'll be working behind the scenes, both inside and outside our walls, to weaken them. I need everyone hyper vigilant. I need each of you to take up your assigned tasks and be willing to lay down your life to protect the weaker among us. This is our home, and I will do anything it takes to save it. If the Reapers think they can just roll up and take what's ours, they are sadly mistaken. My only question is, are all of you willing to fight?"

The crowd roars its approval and you watch him  _work the room_. You watch the leader you admire instill both _confidence and hope_ in his followers. You watch _Rick_ , and you've never loved the man more than you do in this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember readers are an author's life blood. Share your thoughts! Even if I don't always reply, know that I eat up each of your words and appreciate everything you have to say. When I don't reply, it's usually because I'm focused on writing the next chapter or on that frustrating real life stuff. I'll try to get caught up on replies very soon.
> 
> Also, I don't have a beta, and will correct errors as I find them, please forgive me. Happy Rickyling. :)


	24. Best Date Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Battles, Pain, and Love

**Rick's Perspective**

Even when a battle ends in victory, there's little joy for the survivors. Too many friends, too many good people have fallen. Death stalks among the wounded, _and you are death_ because often you have to make a decision whether someone is too far gone or could _live_ in a maimed state.

The young man on the ground in front of you is _not much older than Carl_ ...you can see his intestines. You take the boy into your arms _you can't even remember his name_ hugging him gently, brushing his hair from wide, pain-filled hazel eyes, promising everything will be okay _that he'll be fine_ as you stab a knife through his temple. _Nick_ , you remember, _his name was Nick_ , as you watch the light fade from his eyes. He'd looked at you like you could save him, _so confident in Rick Grimes_ , but all you can offer is death.

It's not an easy task, finishing off the living.

This is not the life you wanted. This is not where you want to be, killing the wounded on a blood-soaked battlefield.

You look around at the devastation, at the mangled section of the wall that even now your people are attempting to fix, _and it could have been worse_ , you know.

......

Besides being a rancher in his former life, O'neal had also been an expert on explosives. The night before the Reapers were due to arrive, three men, _Daryl, Paul, and Adam_ , had slipped into the enemy camp, and planted O'neal's homemade bombs on most of the Reapers' vehicles. The resulting explosion could be seen from your vantage point on top of the main entrance, and you'd finally been able to _breathe again_ when Daryl climbed up almost invisibly beside you, all of his exposed skin covered in black grease.

"How many men down, you think?" you ask him.

"More than half, I'd say. Maybe more. Paul almost got caught and had to put down some kid. He's not taking it well."

You feel a pang of sadness for Paul, but not for anyone, _regardless of age_ , who plans on attacking the safe zone, "How long before they retaliate?"

"It'll be chaos for a while, so I'd say tomorrow, but who knows?"

The attack began before dawn. Before you'd managed to take out the two men firing grenade launchers, several of the houses in the safe zone were hit, as was a small portion of the wall. 10 or so Reapers had poured through the hole, but Carl's army of young soldiers _had been there_ to take them out.

Your son hadn't lost a single soldier. You'd been too busy to see them in action, but the stories came in reports throughout the morning. The arriving walkers had helped your cause, too, distracting the remaining Reapers enough for the perimeter guard to take out another substantial chunk of their numbers. In the end, many of you had gone over the wall, hunting down and killing individuals. At one point a small car had escaped, but Adam and Paul had chased them down, shot out the tires, and eventually the men inside.

You'd lost 12 people total. All in all, _it could have been much worse._

......

"Rick! Daryl's down!"

Glenn's voice cuts you. You fly across the battlefield, and are stopping in a lurch over Daryl's prone form before you even know you're running. Then you drop to your knees beside him, _fear knocking the breath from you_. His face in your hands, you press your cheek to his chest, _breathing again_ at the strong, steady thump of his heart.

"Calm down, Rick, I think he's just unconscious."

"What the fuck happened? I just saw him helping Michonne carry Paul over the wall! He was fine!" you yell at Glenn.

Glenn drops down beside you, "I don't know, maybe he hit his head on something?" and he points to a small trickle of blood streaming from Daryl's hairline. You maneuver Daryl's head into your lap as his eyes blink open, _blue confusion_ meeting yours.

"What happened?" he asks, lifting a hand to his head.

"I'm not sure. Hit your head? I was about to start making a bunch of wild sexual promises to get you to wake up," and his eyes gleam at you in memory.

Glenn stands quickly, "And on that note, I'm outta here."

Daryl chuckles softly, and then grimaces in pain, fingers prodding at his wound, "Tell me more about these promises."

You smile and lean your face down to his, "Whatever you want. Just make me a list and I'll make it happen."

"Anything?""

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

"Anything. I'll promise you anything."

"I've never been on a date."

"You want me to take you out to the movies or something?"

"I want a real date, never been on one, romantic stuff and things like that. Want to dress up and use silverware at dinner, both of those stupid forks and the spoon."

"I can do that. I'll even open doors for you."

"Fucker," you grin even though your head throbs, _liking that idea_ for some reason. He's looking at you expectantly, and you chew thoughtfully on your bottom lip, knowing you could ask for the moon and he'd try to wrestle it from the damn sky, but you want to get him back for that _opening doors_ shit, "And a strip tease."

His eyes widen comically and he punches you softly in the stomach, "You might regret asking for that, you've never seen me dance, but hey, I'll do my best."

"And," you say, "I want you on top of me again," your voice is husky at the thought, "riding me..."

And _that little pleased smile_ is back, the one he wore a few days ago until Michonne had brought you both back to reality. Despite the blood surrounding you and the harsh smell of war lingering in the air, your dick is weeping pre-come inside your pants, and regardless of the pounding in your head, you want him so bad _you actually glance around to see if maybe you could_... but no, more and more people are entering the battleground, helping the wounded back over the wall, putting out small fires, taking out the arriving walkers.

"Fuck yeah," he nods enthusiastically, his grin nothing but white teeth, "all night long. Anything else?"

You lift your chin, and just the thought of your next request has you trying to hold in your laughter. You can't even get the words out for a minute. Finally you grab the back of his neck and pull his ear to your mouth, whispering what you want.

When he tugs away, eyes a little exasperated at your request, you do start laughing, right there in the middle of the battlefield.

.......

Rick presides over multiple funerals during the next few days. It's _miserable_ to put so many good people in the ground, but you attend each one, barely speaking to the families and friends left behind, _but following Rick_ , as much his shadow as Michonne. When you are with them, people begin to speak of the dynamic duo as the triumvirate, and it takes some getting used to, the hero worship that differs from the respect you receive as a hunter. Slowly people are starting to meet your eyes, and with so many of the safe zone in pain, your experiences with Potts no longer seem a focus. _Pain shines everywhere_.

Between rebuilding the destroyed section of the wall and forever strengthening the entire thing, you and Rick fall into bed night after night in exhaustion. You hug a lot, and in private, he's always kissing you, but sex seems _selfish_ somehow, and other than a mutual jerk off in the shower, the crazy promises you demanded of him on the battlefield seem like a distant dream.

He's the most incredible man _you've ever known_ , and you'll follow him to the gates of hell. When life returns to some semblance of normalcy, you begin hunting again, but _your mind_ is always with him. _Always_. 

.........

**Rick's Perspective**

It's just you and Michonne, and though she _can't help_ teasing you, you can tell she's excited to help you gather items for a romantic dinner.

The two of you are in the abandoned Target close to the safe zone. Survival items and food have long been stripped from the shelves, but most of the things you need are still there. She doesn't like when you ask for a moment of privacy, her eyes go hard before suddenly widening in understanding. You are standing by the women's undergarments, after all. 

After a few minutes of searching around, sheer frustration maddening you at the sizes, you give up and call her, "I don't know what the fuck this shit is."

Her laughter rings out, _a peal of pure joy_ , and you can't help but laugh with her. 

After a moment, you're holding one another in hilarity, unable to stop laughing as she holds one ridiculous garment after another to the front of you. Then she spans your hips with her hands, "I'm guessing a large. You can try them on, if you like."

"Fuck that," you say, "we'll just take one of each."

...... 

**Daryl's Perspective**

Your "date" has been perfect. 

This morning, when you'd awoken before dawn for your hunt, a note in red lipstick had greeted you in the the bathroom mirror. _Will you go out with me_? it read. It was shocking how instantly you were aroused. You'd grinned at the note for several minutes before you'd gone back to bed to stare down at him. So gorgeous. _So yours_. 

You'd kissed him awake, "Yes, I'll go out with you."

He'd wakened, grinning against your lips, "Thank god you said yes."

All day you'd been _distracted_ and though your hunters had eyed you several times, you'd still managed to bring down 10 rabbits. 

Even though the familiar seasoning let you know Beth had cooked most of the dinner, Rick had grilled the venison using Bonnie's marinade. The meat was perfect, and you'd happily chewed at him, though the silverware remained unused. You hadn't dressed up, either, but you'd put on a new t-shirt and combed your hair back from your eyes for once. 

Beth and Nathan had taken Judith for the night, and Carl was staying with Michonne. As you'd eaten silently with Rick, the two of you had repeatedly smiled and spoken words of love with your eyes. It was the most perfect dinner you could imagine. 

Afterwards, you'd done the dishes together, bumping hips happily, because neither of you would leave the mess for Beth. When he beckoned you up the stairs, eyes so full of love and lust, you'd followed him up to your bedroom. 

And now the warm light of candles transforms the room. They flicker from the nightstand and from the top of your dresser. He's made the air glow somehow and it feels like magic.

"Lay down," Rick says. _Anticipation_ roars through you, and you hit the bed so hard you bounce. Stuffing both of your pillows behind your head, you lay back and watch him expectantly.

"You can't laugh," he says quietly, his fingers resting on the buttons of his shirt.

"Never," you say and you mean it. Though this had originally been something of a joke, _you're very serious now_. He starts to sway slowly, and though you're not sure it would qualify as a dance, you like it, it's a little hypnotizing, that movement of his hips, reminds you of the slow pace the two of you use when sex turns into love making. And there's his chest, all lean hardened muscle decorated with scar tissue. You've always seen your own scars as ugly, but his are beautiful. _He's beautiful_. As his shirt slips slowly down his arms, he lifts his hands, and all the little muscles bunch as he rolls his head.

He reaches for the button of his jeans, slowly popping it open, and there's something different in his eyes, beyond the normal heat, and that blue burn has you sitting up in bed, tilting your head in fascination, as he turns his back to you. He's eyeing you over his shoulder, _so sexy_ , and damn, when his pants drop heavily to the floor, it takes your shocked brain a minute to catch up to your eyes, and then you're on your knees behind him, his hips in your hands, laying your cheek against his pink panty-clad ass

"I can't believe you," you groan, and start stroking your face over the silk that barely covers his butt cheeks.

He's looking down at you, face flushed red, "You know I keep my promises."

You grin up at him, "You look sexy as hell."

"I looked in the mirror, Daryl," he contradicts you, "I look ridiculous."

"Nope," you gently bite at the silk, "you look gorgeous. Makes me want to do all sorts of things to you."

"Things that hopefully involve taking these off. They fit in the back, but in the front? Not so much," he turns in your arms and he's right, the little triangle in the front barely covers his balls, and his entire dick stands against his stomach. He gasps as you cup his silk-covered sack, rolling your hand gently, "That feels amazing."

Holding his eyes _damn his arousal always enhances your own_ you lick him from the base to the tip.

"Come here," he whispers thickly, so you stand in front of him as he slowly removes your clothes. 

Your breath has quickened and you keep reaching out to touch the pink silk, so fascinated by the feel of it barely covering his skin.

When you're naked too, he whispers, "I have more," pointing at the panties.

"I want to see," you demand, and he pushes you back to the bed.

"Good 'cause these things have cut off my circulation," he rips off the panties, tosses them to you, and disappears into the bathroom.

"The things I do for you," he says sheepishly, stepping into the candlelight. And you're _back off the bed_ , staring at the little white dress-looking thing, all silk and lace, with tiny straps and a short skirt.

"What's this?"

"A teddy."

"Wear it while you fuck me," you demand, and it really does surprise you how _sexy_ you find all of this.

He grins, "I can do that," and lays back on the bed.

You touch him through the fabric, but the roughness of your fingers snag the material, so you end up shoving it above his hips, watching it pool against his stomach. There's an angry red line at the base of his dick, and your arousal goes up another notch, knowing that even though he suffered a bit wearing those pink things, _he'd worn them for you_.

Your tongue soothes his skin and you lick your way down his balls. His legs spread, and you nuzzle his inner thighs as he squirms and pants.

"Here," he says breathlessly, handing you a tube of lubricant, "it's scented and flavored."

You lift your head to grin at him, but the sight of him, _all spread out_ , chest and belly covered in silk and lace, wipes the grin from your face, "Damn you look sexy."

"Hurry up," he demands, wiggling his hips, and you're smiling again.

"Be patient, we've got all night," you remind him, and lean back down to kiss his thighs, nipping your teeth gently at the skin. In response, his legs open wider, and you run a finger over his entrance as he gasps.

"Having all night just means we can do it several times, now hurry up," he says.

"Nope, got things I want to do first," you say, and run your tongue over that tight clenching hole.

"Daryl!" he's so loud, and it tickles you to no end as you lick him over and over. You have to clutch his thighs to hold him still, but there's no way you can hold that ass still, and he's thrusting at your tongue.

Finally you do reach for the lubricant, damn cherry stuff, slowly inserting your fingers as he grinds down. The man won't be still and keeps demanding that you _just fuck him already_.

He's panting, "yes yes yes," as you lift his legs to your shoulders and slowly enter him. It's almost impossible because he won't relax, clenching and grinding down.

"Rick, I'm gonna fuck you, but you have to calm down and let me inside,"

"Okay," he agrees, but it still takes a while because even though he's not moving as wildly, he still clenching around you every time you gain an inch.

"Damn," you say, "it's 'bout damn time," as you finally bottom out, fully inside him. And like last time, he hops off of you and rolls you on your back, his knees by your hips. Then he fucking himself down, and it feels so amazing that _you_ start telling him to hurry up. How gorgeous is he fucking down on top of you wearing that teddy!

You bring up your knees and he presses his back to your thighs. His ass is working away, clenching and bearing down and you sit up to press your chest against his, and nibble at the tiny white strap on his shoulder. The silk feels amazing, but you jerk the teddy off of him _because you want his skin_.

Then you're lost because _he feels like heaven around you_ , his inner muscles and walls working you until you're seeing stars, and though _you really want to participate_ , you can't seem to do anything but hold on to him, drowning in pleasure.

You don't last long, and your orgasm, when it hits you, bows your back and has you pushing in _deeper into him than ever_ and you say his name over and over. 

When he comes between your stomachs, you feel boneless, and barely have the energy to stroke his back and whisper, "Best date ever."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several of you have made requests, and I'm going to concentrate on them in the next chapter. I know a notification went out last night and again, it was my fault, I wasn't ready to post and hit the wrong button. I'm so sorry! I've already finished half of the next chapter, so another update should be coming very soon. Thank you, as always, for reading. You guys are awesome. :)


	25. Trigonometry and Lobster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The safe zone over time, and scenes of moments that draw our boys and their family closer.

**Rick's Perspective**

The months that follow show that the safe zone has changed, its people strengthened. Whereas people were naive when you arrived last fall, you don't see that anymore. People are battle-hardened and aware. Even the small children among you are often _serious and somber_.

Your son has grown up before your eyes and though he's only 15, _he's become a man_. Daryl helps you face this, and often stops you with a look or a touch when you start to offer unasked for advice or begin to reach out a hand out to ruffle Carl's hair. It's a hard adjustment for you. _You miss your boy_ , but Daryl helps keep you in check, and a shift occurs in your relationship with your son. Carl offers you the respect you offer him, and talking to him is like talking to an _equal_. 

Carl is always followed by a group of boys and girls now, and the teens train constantly. Carl has a mass of hand movements and low whistles, each with different meanings, and the child soldiers don't speak, but they move like a _well-oiled machine._  After Carl insists that his soldiers be allowed to train outside the wall, in the field, so to speak, you insist on observing as they take down a small herd of walkers. Carl's army is quietly efficient, so the next time he informs you they'll be training over the wall, you simply nod, and watch him go with _a pang in your heart_. 

His sweetheart, Joanna, becomes a ghost in your home. She doesn't talk much, and usually only in low tones to Carl. She's extremely respectful to you and Daryl, and Beth is always praising the girl's manners, but you see this life has already hardened her. Losing both parents and your siblings _before you're 12_ will do that to you. When Carl had first spoken of her, you'd been charmed by puppy love, but after the battle with the Reapers, the _seriousness_ with which your son eyes this girl worries you. They are so young, but their intimacy lets you know they've _already_ taken their relationship physical. Daryl shakes his head at your concerns and tells you it's a different world than you grew up in, and it's _hard_ , but you keep your mouth shut and trust your son. Besides, Daryl filled Carl's nightstand with condoms, hundreds of them, and you know Carl is somehow more comfortable with Daryl taking on that role than he'd ever be with you.

Beth still officially lives with you but spends most nights at Nathan's. You like Nathan, and even though Beth _seems happy enough_ and Nathan can provide for her, you and Daryl know she's _settling_ for the man in front of her. Love is a luxury, she says, and being content in this world is much better than being alone. She pats both of your cheeks as you hesitantly suggest that maybe another man is out there for her, _and her eyes twinkle as she whispers_ , "You two are the epic love. I just wanna be happy."

Judy isn't just walking these days, she's running. Being one of the three toddlers in the safe zone makes her extremely popular, especially among the women, and you never lack for babysitters. She's also talking up a storm and so curious about the world around her. She's a constant source of amusement for you and Daryl, _if occasionally exhausting_. You've become daddy to her, but she still refers to Daryl as da da. She's so in love with Squirmer, the runt pup Daryl rescued, and between Judy and the puppy, the innocence and laughter in your home _balance_ the harshness of the outside world. Paul is raising the other two pups and training them for hunting, and his earlier predictions were dead on, Thunder and Lightning are already huge, sleekly-muscled beasts, and Daryl marvels at their intelligence.  

The safe zone's food stores have become impressive, as the greenhouse grows more than is needed, so space has been created for growing herbs and medicinal plants. Hutches have been built and a steady supply of rabbit meat is available. Over time, the hunters have brought home other domesticated animals, pigs and chickens, and the walls have been expanded for a small farm area. You and Monroe plan other expansions for the future as _more and more people continue to arrive_.

More people means a broader skill group, but it _also_ means more headaches. Your head of security title simply becomes 'the law" and you spend less time on runs with Michonne than you do settling small disputes. Angelica remains the only occupant of the jail though, and you and Monroe can't decide _what to do_ with the woman. Setting her free outside the safe zone is not an option, but keeping her indefinitely jailed is a hassle. 

The hunters venture farther away from the safe zone, and this last trip kept Daryl away from you for six _impossibly long days_. The bounty of venison and duck they returned with goes into storage, and you, both selfishly and realistically, suggest they call off distance hunts for a while. 

Herds are a much rarer occurrence, and the perimeter guard is quick to dispatch them. The walkers almost all seem older, slower and more clumsy than ever. You spend so little time over the wall that you're starting to feel rusty, so this afternoon, when a group of people arrive surrounded by a small herd of the dead, you wave off the perimeter guard, jump the wall, and quickly dispatch the 15 or so walkers with your machete. You discover _you aren't rusty at all_ , and it's almost ridiculously easy to shove, kick, chop the lot of them into a pile at your feet. Not a drop of blood splashes you, so after wiping your machete on a walker's dress, you hold out your hand to the people staring at you in awe. 

The new group of arrivals have been holed up in a bomb shelter since the apocalypse began, but they've brought with them large amounts of guns and ammo to offer in return for protection. They _know little_ about surviving, and all stare at you with the same sort of hero worship that used to grace the inhabitants of the safe zone. There's a doctor in the group, too, and after you explain the rules and question them, they are allowed to stay.

The new arrivals include the most beautiful man you've ever seen. Henry, he tells you his name huskily, his eyes hot on your skin. It's a bit _unnerving_ how he eyes you, letting you know he's very interested in you, the tip of his pink tongue peeking out as he sweeps his gaze all over your body.  He's the type of guy who looks a lot younger than he actually is. Pretty really, with those almond-shaped green eyes, curly lashes, and Cupid's bow of pink lips. 

You freak out for a second, are you really checking out another guy? Your eyes trace down his slender form, and yes you decide, you are admiring him, and admit he's stunningly attractive, but you're not attracted. It's just that you've never seen such a beautiful human being. 

You run a hand through your hair, feeling that's the truth, but still questioning this interest in even looking at another male ...this interest that you've only ever felt for Daryl. You're examining his butt now, watching him walk toward Monroe's, preparing for intake, and no, you don't feel any desire. Nothing other than admiration because the boy is pretty. _As pretty as a girl_.  

The hard press of Daryl's eyes pull your gaze from the boy. Daryl's expression clearly saying, "What the fuck, Rick?" and you know he caught you checking out Henry. There's a flash of hurt in his eyes, no one else would have noticed it, but you know him too well. You tug him to a stop while Michonne continues toward Monroe's, leading the new arrivals.

"I was just checking," you tell him.

He shoves your shoulder, "Checking out his ass, you mean."

You reach for his neck, and he tugs backwards, but not too hard and you pull his forehead to yours, "I've never been attracted to any man but you. He's pretty, and I guess I was flustered that he was looking at me. So I looked, but no, no interest whatsoever. Still only gay for you. Always for you."

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

On the days you don't hunt or scavenge, you start to notice an _annoying pattern_ of Henry's. When Rick walks outside in the morning, the kid is there. Big white smile, green eyes crinkling happily, _hero worship_ , eyeing Rick up and down like he's starving and Rick's a big plate of food. You know Rick doesn't want the other male, but it's disconcerting to see that Rick genuinely likes the kid, and truthfully, so do you. Rick's flattered by the attention, but doesn't in any way encourage him, and even though you know with every fiber of your being that Rick belongs to you, you can't help but be slightly intimidated by Henry's beauty and personality. He's smart, quick with a joke, and makes Rick laugh. 

You know there are a lot of things Rick loves about you, but your sense of humor probably _doesn't_ top the list. Usually the only times you make him laugh are on accident. 

So that night in bed you share one of Merle's old jokes, "Two hunters were in the woods, and one accidentally shoots the other. So the shooter calls 911 and tells the operator that he'd shot and killed his hunting buddy. The operator said are you sure he's dead? Then the operator hears a gunshot and the hunter says, 'yeah, I'm sure.'"

You grin awkwardly and Rick looks at you like you've grown a second head, before he smiles softly. _Fuck it_ , you think, and climb on top of him and stab your tongue into his mouth. He's pretty damn easy to entertain _in ways other than laughter_. 

...... 

"Need to stay away from Rick," you simply say, confronting Henry one morning, "obviously he don't want you, so back off."

The little shit laughs _actually laughs_ in your face and you pull back your fist, but his words stop your punch, "Of course he don't want me, he's crazy in love with you, Daryl."

"Then why the hell you following him around all the time?"

"Because I'm in love with him. It's like I can't help myself. I've never known a man like him."

You feel a little sorry for him, because _you see_ his perspective, and give him a little nod, "I get that, but he's mine."

"I know," he says unhappily, so you pat him on the arm, and head off to the tanning shed. You glance back over your shoulder and he looks so sad. A beautiful broken man. But he needs to find one of his own. _Yours is taken_. 

But that was this morning, now this afternoon, you enter your home, head toward the kitchen, there's fucking Henry, sitting _way too close_ to Rick, their backs to you, a half full bottle of whiskey on the table. Rick's words stop your forward progress and you can't help but grin. 

"Daryl and I 'fically been together little less than a year, but I fell in love with him long 'fore that. I love him soooo much, 'verything 'bout him, I just love him. I do. I love him."

His voice is heavily slurred, and why the fuck is Rick drunk at 4 o'clock in the afternoon? The man barely drinks. You thought you and Henry had reached an understanding, and here he is trying _and obviously succeeding_ to get your boyfriend drunk.

You step a couple of steps closer when Henry reaches for the back of Rick's neck, but Rick, without a lot of coordination, slaps the hand away. 

"Rick, here's the thing. I just want one kiss. That's all. Just one. If there's nothing there, nothing between us, I promise I'll never try again."

"Nope. Daryl 'a kill you and though I do like you, 'Enry, I don' like ya like that. Know what am saying?"

You step forward and address Henry, who quickly scoots his chair away from Rick's, "So if you kiss him once and there's nothing there, you'll leave him the fuck alone? Do I have your word on that?

Wide green eyes meet yours, Henry's skinny ass is scared, but he nods, as Rick says, "Don' wanna kiss no one but you, Daryl," and he holds out his arms. You reach him and his arms wrap around your waist, "mmmm, let's go upstairs. I love you, I love you so much. Henry might be pretty but yoursh gorgeous. And I love you. Have I told you that," his head nods against your stomach, "cause I do. Love you, I mean."

You eye Henry, "Go ahead. Kiss him."

Henry says, "He's drunk and pressed into you."

"Isn't that why he's drunk? So you could lower his inhibitions?"

The boy has the grace to blush prettily and nod his head, "It wasn't a very good plan. He lost a bet. I kind of tricked him."

You look down at Rick and thread your fingers through his curls, "I need you to sit up and kiss Henry."

Rick sends you an incredulous look, his expression exaggerated by alcohol, "But I don' wanna."

God, he's _adorable_ when he's drunk, "Do it for me. And for Henry, so he'll know to stop pursuing you," and then the blue disappears from his eyes as he squints up at you. 

"I don' think I'd understand this 'ven I was sober," but you just smile at him, unlatch his arms from your waist, and round the table to sit down facing them. Your lack of jealousy after _so many days_ of worrying about Henry's fascination with Rick feels a little weird, but there's no doubt that man is _yours_. 

Rick huffs out a huge put-upon breath and turns to Henry, and it's a little _shocking_ how erotic you find their mouths approaching one another. Henry's perfect little Cupid bow meeting Rick's full, red lips. Henry's lips tug and nibble at Rick's, then you see the pink of his tongue caress the seam of Rick's lips before diving into his mouth. You prop your chin on your hand, _for some bizarre reason enjoying yourself_ , when Rick jerks back, "You taste weird and your lips are too full. I don' like it."

You can't help but chuckle when Henry meets your eyes in defeat, though a thought has him perking up, "Maybe I should kiss Daryl, too."

But then Rick is stumbling to his feet, and leaning _swaying really_ over Henry in anger, "The fuck you say?" so you round the table and take him into your arms.

"See yourself out, Henry."

"Can't believe you made me kiss him. Tasted wrong," Rick is mumbling into your neck as you head him up the stairs.  

"I know, I'm sorry," you say, "but he gets it now."

"Well you ain't fuckin' kissing him. Lips all wrong."

"Never kissing anyone but you, Rick," you say as you reach your room, shuffle him inside, and close the door. 

You strip him and then yourself, "Let's take a little nap."

But Rick is sucking at your neck and grinding his hips to yours, "Don' wanna sleep. Wanna fuck."

"Okay," you say, but you fall on top of him and simply grind your hips together, and quickly he's coming against your stomachs and almost immediately snoring lightly. You are so tickled with him, though, that you don't mind. Using your hand, you finish yourself off, first to the image of Henry's lips against Rick's, and finally to what _really_ turned you on, Rick's slurring voice, "Don' taste right. Lips too full."

Afterwards you hold his drunk ass in your arms and grin at ceiling. It's funny how seeing him kiss another guy makes you feel _more loved than ever_. You press a hard kiss to his slack mouth, smiling against his lips, "I love you, too, you idiot."

......

**Rick's Perspective**

The high school you and Michonne enter must have been falling down before the apocalypse, and nature is starting to reclaim the space as her own, weeds and saplings growing up through the broken tiles of the floor.

"You gonna tell me why we're here?" Michonne asks, attempting, _not very successfully_ , to use a crumbling piece of chalk to write her name on a blackboard. 

"Looking for a trigonometry textbook," you say as you move into the next classroom. 

"Trig? Seriously? I loathed trig in high school," but she follows and helps you sort through stacks of moisture-swollen math books. 

"Neither Daryl nor Beth got to graduate and they were talking about how they wished they'd gotten to take their trig class senior year. Seems both of them were math nerds."

She laughs at you and you send her a grin as she says, "If he said he'd never eaten lobster, we'd probably be in wetsuits swimming in the ocean right now."

"I can't give him much, but we've passed this school many times, and this I could give him."

"So sweet," she teases, and you finally do find two trig books and load them into your backpack. 

"We got another stop," you tell her, exiting the school. 

"Lobster?"

"Nope. A jewelry store," and you barely keep your balance as she _barrels_ into you, her hug practically squeezing you in half. 

Her dark brown eyes are brimming with tears, and she sniffs before sighing in happiness, "He's gonna flip. Can I watch?"

"Nope," you smile at her, "but I'll tell you all about it."

......

You planned this date down to the tiniest detail. Last week Paul had helped you scout out the perfect locale, a small, deserted farm house with a pond in the back. The sprawling property was fenced in, and you and Paul carefully walked the boundary, finding the entire thing intact. You'd gone back twice more, airing out the farmhouse and taking in supplies you'd need for _the big night._  

The day arrives and you leave Judy with a grinning Beth. Carl asks if Joanna can stay the night with him in your house, and though you can hear Lori screaming _hell no_ in your head, you nod, "That'd be fine."

"I'm proud of you, dad," simple words, but they squeeze your heart, and you hug him tightly. 

It seems that everyone knows your plans, _except for Daryl,_ as a very pregnant Maggie grabs your cheeks and tells you how much she loves you both. Glenn pats you on the back, and gives you a thumbs up. 

You've just reached the top of the wall of the main entrance when Henry calls up to you, "If he says no, you always have me, Rick."

You look down at him in exasperation. _How does Henry know_? Doesn't matter, though, "He's gonna say yes."

"I know. He's not an idiot," and he beams that beautiful smile at you, "so congratulations in advance." You nod, glad the guy's stopped giving you those longing looks, and seems to be willing to remain friends.

Over the wall, several of the perimeter guard help you hook up the truck, and as planned with Paul, you drive around to the section closest to the tanning shed. Daryl's standing on top of the wall, as also prearranged with Paul, and you stop the truck, roll down the window and call out, "Come on! I'm taking you out."

He grins down at you, shaking his head, but quickly climbs to the truck and hops in, "Where we going?"

Excitement gleams in his eyes as you say, "It's a surprise."

The 20 minute drive passes in near silence, though he continuously shoots you happy grins, and as you hop out at the gate to the farm, he moves into the driver seat and pulls the truck through. A moment later, the farmhouse is in front of you. 

"What's this?" he asks. 

"Our new love nest," you say, "we're staying the night."

"What about Judy? Squirmer?"

You shush him with a soft kiss, "I've taken care of everything. No worries," and he smiles at you as you ask, "wanna go fishing?"

.........

The pond has some surprisingly big fish in it, but you'd known it would from all the splashes you'd noted on previous visits. Though you're not much of a hunter, you'd spent a lot of time fishing in your youth with your dad, and Daryl is impressed that you catch 4 to his one. _It's hard to best the man at anything_ , so you enjoy his praise, and the kiss rewards you receive each time you place another fish in the bucket. 

It's a warm day, but a nice breeze swirls around and it seems like you and Daryl are the only two people in the world. You spread a blanket on the small dock and you and Daryl lay side by side, relaxing in a way that _rarely_ happens. 

"Thank you," he says softly, and you turn your head to meet the blue of his eyes questioningly. 

"This is my second date," he smiles, and presses his lips to yours. The kiss is slow and perfect and your heart _feels too big_ for your chest. 

"I'm gonna take you on lots of dates," you say, and though you had big plans for how you would ask him after dinner, _this moment is perfect_ , "for the rest of our lives."

He hears it in your voice and sits up quickly, eyes glued to yours, and his breath quickens. 

"Daryl, I want to be with you forever. I'm never happier than when you're happy. And if you'll have me, I'll spend the rest of my days keeping you that way," you reach into your pocket and pull out two silver rings and hand one to him.

He stares down at it for a second before meeting your eyes, and you can't believe how _nervous_ you are, "Daryl Dixon, will you marry me?"

His mouth opens, but no words follow and you wait expectantly, your heart in your throat. Finally, he reaches over, grabs your hand and slides the ring on your finger. You take his hand and slip your band over his knuckle. It fits perfectly, as you'd known it would. 

"By the power invested in me by the former state of Georgia and because I fucking say so, I pronounce us married," you say and he laughs softly at you. 

"You may now kiss your husband," he says and for some reason, both of you crack up, and between the laughter and the kissing, the sun sets in a orange glow before you finally stand up and walk hand in hand into the farmhouse.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm puzzling where I want to take this story. There's lot of action I could pull in from the comics, or I could allow them to live their lives and write about milestones. What do you think?


	26. Good Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These two scenes occur in the year following the last chapter. I have a countless number of them in my head and will share them as I figure out what I want to do here. I'm still not sure exactly, but this story is not over. 
> 
> As always, share your thoughts. :)

**Rick's Perspective**  

What is up with Michonne? She's so moody, snapping your head off at the slightest thing. A couple of comments you've made recently have caused her eyes _to narrow in a way_ that has you eyeing her katana, watching to see if she's going to slide it out and remove your head.

You try to be direct, "Everything okay, 'Chonne?"

"Besides living in an apocalypse where the dead have come to life and force us to live behind walls?"

You tilt your head, truly worried, "Hey, talk to me."

Her lower lip is suddenly trembling, then she's roughly grabbing you, sobbing on your shoulder, and you can barely make out the words, "I fucked up, I fucked up so bad. So bad, Rick."

You rub her back and whisper soothing nonsense, _completely unnerved_. Your best friend may occasionally get sappy about love, but you've never heard her cry over herself or admit to being wrong about anything. 

"I bet it's not that bad," but she shoves you away and wipes her face dry. 

"Thought we were going to eat?" she says sternly, as though _you_ were the one holding up the two of you. 

She doesn't respond when you say, "Whatever it is, you know I'm here for you when you want to talk," but she nods and takes your hand, holding it tightly on the way to your house. _Something is seriously wrong_.  

Daryl, Beth, and Nathan are already at the kitchen table, eating bacon sandwiches. There's also a large bowl of chopped fruit in the center of the table, and using her free hand, Michonne grabs the _entire bowl and a fork_ as she drags you into a chair beside her, that death grip on your hand. Judith waves at you from her high chair. 

"Everything okay?" Beth asks as Michonne digs into the fruit, everyone stops eating and watches as she _practically inhales_ the fruit, bite after bite disappearing into her mouth. You stroke your thumb over the back of her hand as Beth places a plate in front of you. 

It's when Michonne moves your hand to her stomach, pressing hard against her abdominal muscles, that your eyes widen, "Who's the father?"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

The shocked silence in the room is broken by Michonne's loud, miserable groan, "Let's just say your pretty boy has a thing for being dominated."

"Henry?" Daryl sounds shocked, but you're not, not really, having noticed the way Henry watches her lately. 

"I'm so stupid!" Michonne wails and then she's crying into your neck and climbing into your lap. Your hold her, _damn she's heavy_  and send a helpless look to Daryl. 

"You know we're here for you, Michonne," Beth says, "every step of the way. We'll be here."

Michonne sits up a little, the sharp bones of her butt digging into your thighs as she yells at Beth, "I am pregnant by a gay white boy!"

In the silence that follows that, Judith mimics with glee, "Gay white boy!" clapping her tiny hands, "gay white boy!"

Daryl chokes out a surprised chuckle, slapping his hand over his mouth, and Michonne turns to glare at him before a tearful laugh stutters out of her, too. Then you're laughing and so are Beth and Nathan and no one can seem to stop. 

That's how Maggie and Glenn find you as they enter, tiny Hershel in Glenn's arms.

"What in the world is so funny?" Maggie asks, chuckling, and and you try to sober up and wipe the tears from your face.

Judith yells happily, "Gay white boy!" and you lose it all over again. 

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

You're scavenging with Adam and Paul in a neighborhood about an hour outside the safe zone when you see the swimming pool. Its cover is completely intact, though after Paul helps you fold the cover away, the brown stagnant water does not look as appealing as you'd hoped it might. 

"You help me drain this and fill it back up? Rick's birthday is next week and I've got an idea."

Paul grins and nods, "Sure."

Rick is always doing thoughtful things for you. You have a conversation with Beth about missing out on taking trig your senior year? He brings home textbooks. You say your leather jacket is falling apart? There's a new one hanging from the coat rack the next day, angel wings appliquéd on the back. Let him hear you tell Michonne you like the smell of wild roses? Vases full scattered all over your house and three bushes planted in front of the porch. Talk with Carl about missing watching baseball? A field is prepared and the safe zone's Cardinals and Blue Jays swing it out every Sunday afternoon. The man spoils you freaking rotten and you can rarely think of anything to do in return. 

But swimming? How many times have you heard Rick talk nostalgically about swimming?

"You know," Paul says, "considering this is a good hour away, why don't we just dig one in the safe zone? It's been some years, but I once worked for a guy that put 'em in for folks. I bet we could find an old business somewhere, haul back what we need, and dig one out in the new expansion area."

"Even better idea," you nod, happy to have a plan, imagining the look on Rick's face if you can actually pull this off.  

It takes some work to make it happen, finding the materials, enlisting a large number of people to help dig, pouring the concrete and applying the liner, pumping in water from a nearby creek... _and keeping Rick away from the expansion area_. Luckily there are a bunch of people who are happy to distract him, happy to keep the secret, and they help you have it ready in time for his birthday. 

Rick's no dummy, though, he knows you're up to something, and his curiosity is driving you a little nuts, "Just tell me," he says again the night before his birthday, giving you _that look_ where he tilts his head and holds half of his bottom lip with his teeth. He knows your weaknesses and is not above exploiting them shamelessly. 

"Don't know what you're talking 'bout," you hold back your grin.

"Sure brought in a lot of stuff," he says thoughtfully once you climb in bed, and his hand reaches to stroke your dick, knowing how your brain stops functioning when he touches you, "what all was in those trucks?"

"Stuff," you moan lightly, rocking into his hand, "just some things."

Leaning down, he settles his mouth on you, _and damn it's always so hot_ , taking you deep into his throat. His eyes hold yours and you love seeing him with his mouth wrapped around your flesh. _And he knows it_. 

Pleasure floods your senses and you are so close to coming when he pops you out of his mouth, "You building something?"

You groan, barely even remembering what he's yapping on about, "Shit Rick, come on already."

His hand strokes you a couple of times, and _yes_ , he leans his head back toward your aching flesh, but his tongue only touches the tip of you, "Is it something really big?"

"Damn it, Rick," you thread your fingers through his curls and tug his head back down, and he relents, and soon pleasure is flooding through you. As you're coming, he removes his mouth and aims your come to land wetly on your stomach. And _damn, he's pulling out the big guns_ as he slowly licks your stomach clean. He knows that drives you nuts.

He looks up at you, tongue swiping a slow path, and you can see yourself shining on his lips, and your dick jumps in renewed interest, "You should just go ahead and tell me."

"Nope, birthday's not until tomorrow."

"Ah, come on, Daryl," he drawls out your name in that way you love _and damn, he's working the shit out of you_ , so you climb on top of him and send the blood rushing away from _his_ brain. 

......

You feel like you've barely _shut your eyes_ when Rick shakes you awake, "Get up, Daryl."

Your internal clock is telling you it's just after midnight, _and you know what he's up to_ , so you exaggerate a huge groan, "Go to sleep, Rick."

"I can't sleep. I have to know and besides, it's officially my birthday."

You roll away from your normal perch on his chest and smile into the sheets, "You're worse than Judith."

"Please," he's kissing your shoulder, "please please."

You sigh deeply before looking up at him, a fake scowl on your face, "Well shit. Get some damn clothes on already."

......

The safe zone is so silent this late at night and no one's awake but the perimeter guard who are on night duty. Rick's walking so fast beside you that he might as well be jogging, and you can't stop grinning at his exuberance. Just before the moonlight gives away your secret, you tug him to a stop and link your arms around his waist, as his move into your hair. 

"You're always so thoughtful to me. Always thinking 'bout me and I want you to know how much I love you. Wasn't even really living life until I met you," you tell him earnestly, and he smiles, pressing a soft kiss against your jaw. 

"Now close your eyes and don't peek," you add, taking his hand and leading him to the edge of the pool. Even though the moon is bright, part of you wishes you'd waited until morning so he could really see it. The small pool you and Paul had originally planned _tripled in size_ as you'd recognized just how many people were excited at the thought of swimming on hot, summer days. 

You move around so you can see his reaction, "Happy Birthday."

The stunned happiness on his face is everything you'd hoped for, and he turns to you, almost squealing, "You built me a swimming pool? You are the best husband ever!"

Then he's stripping, tossing his clothes wildly, and jumping in. You watch him indulgently as he swims back and forth, one end to the other, arms cutting the surface of the water, before he pauses in front of you, shaking his wet head, laughing, "What are you waiting for?"

A minute later, you're in the water too, and his slick, naked body is wrapped erotically around you, and you'd never even thought of this aspect, a wet Rick stroking and sliding against you. Kissing him deeply, you roll your hips against his, and damn, _this pool is the best idea you've ever had_. 

But he tugs away, "We can't have sex in my pool."

You reach for him, "Why the fuck not?"

"I want to bring Judy here in the morning, teach her how to swim," he grins, "she's gonna love it."

 _That_ effectively cools your desire, and for next hour the two of you just play, racing, splashing, dunking one another, and all in all, it's the most fun you've had since... well, the last time you had fun with Rick.

You've forgotten towels, and as you struggle to cram your wet bodies back into your clothes, he whispers to you, "This is the best birthday present I've ever got, and that includes the Atari I got when I was 13, and I thought nothing would ever top that."

You just grin, pleased with how much he loves your present and with yourself for thinking of it.

 _You really are a good husband_. 


	27. Whether You Want To or Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexual healing. This chapter happens a few weeks after the last.

**Daryl's Perspective**  

It's been _well over a year_ since that bullshit happened with Potts, and for the past week, you've been carefully working on Rick. You're more than ready to fully be with him again, in every way, but you're starting to get a little irritated with the way he's ignoring your hints and treating your ass _like it's delicate or something_.  You want him to just fuck you already, and you're starting to go a little nuts. 

You've tried subtlety, _not because you needed it_ , but because Rick needs to have his hand held through this. He's still worried you'll have some type of flashback, leftover emotional scarring _or some shit like that_ , or that he's going to hurt you, and despite the fact that you don't even remember the rape, he barely touches you there, except when he's completed distracted in the height of sex. After he touches you, he acts like he's done something _wrong_. 

And when the hell did this become about Rick's feelings? You're the one it happened to. You should be able to decide when you're ready, dammit, but that's just your frustration talking and  _you know that's not fair_. The ordeal did happen to Rick, too. Maybe he wasn't the one who was raped, but he'd been traumatized. Of the two of you, he'd been the one with nightmares, sobbing your name in his sleep for months afterwards. Your life had taught you how to deal with bad things happening to you, but Rick, despite being a deputy and surviving an apocalypse, had no frame of reference for dealing with the aftermath. 

You just don't know how to convince him that you're ready now. And that he needs to catch up to your healing. Time to be direct. 

One morning in the kitchen, you are alone with Rick for once. Beth just chased Judith off to pre-school, and Carl and Joanna left before dawn, off training with the rest of their teen army.

You're fixing a second cup of coffee when Rick hugs you from behind, arms wrapped warmly around your waist, so you lock your arms over his and rock your ass against his crotch. Rick whimpers slightly, and his arms tug for freedom, _but you're having none of that_. Slowly you bend at the waist, lifting him, until most of his weight is sprawled across your back and his boots leave the floor.

"Daryl, I..."

You interrupt, "Shut up."

Grabbing the counter, you arch your back into him, and then bow it, and _yes,_ he's hard, and pressing right where you want him.

"What are you doing, Daryl?" Rick tries to sound stern, but you hear the breathless quality to his voice and know that he's turned on despite himself. 

"You trying to break your back? Let me down, Daryl!"

"Kinky," you hear behind you, _and fuck it all_ , it's Michonne and Henry. Doesn't anyone knock anymore? You glare at them, but inwardly have to smile at their huge eyes. You imagine it from their perspective, _Rick draped like a rag doll over your back._

Despite them, you don't move, "Come back later. Can't you see we're busy?"

But Rick rolls off of you in a smooth motion, "No, we're not," he says, but you grab him and drag him into a hug. 

"We're very busy," you contradict, glaring at them over Rick's shoulder.  

Michonne nods and shoves Henry from the kitchen, as you call out, "And lock the door behind you!"

You and Rick can't help but grin at each other as you overhear Henry's suggestion to Michonne, "If Rick's not interested, I could..."

"If you don't get your skinny ass out that door..." Michonne's exasperated reply cuts off as the front door slams. 

Rick's smile starts to melt away, and you squeeze him tighter, and launch into your plan for directness, "Enough of this shit. It's been a year and you're fucking me whether you want to or not."

You see the thoughts forming in his mind, and know he's trying to word this _his objections_ in a way that will neither piss you off, nor require him to actually go through with it.

"Don't say a word, Rick. Done told you. This is happening. Right now."

Concerned blue meets your eyes, and you drag him up the stairs. It only takes you a minute to strip the both of you, and you try, but are unable to ignore his hesitancy, and the fear on his face.

 _Damn, you're going have to talk_. If you didn't love him so much, you'd strangle him. Pulling him down beside you on the bed, you glance down and see his hard-on has softened, _but that's not going to deter you_. It's a matter of principle now. 

"Look, I know you want me. Know you want to. And know you're scared. But the way you're acting hurts me more that what happened. I ain't no weakling ...used to love you fucking me. Remember? Do you remember what we had before that asshole made you scared to touch me? Don't you want me anymore?"

"Oh god, no, Daryl, that's not it. I've always wanted you, you know that, and this has never been about your strength. I just want us to be sure you're really ready. I'm terrified I'm going to hurt you." 

You roll on top of him, grasping the sides of his head, "Then don't hurt me," and you press your forehead to his and try to inject _everything_ you're feeling in your voice, "Make it feel good."

He blinks up at you, and you see arousal in his eyes, but his words still carry the wait of resignation, "I'll do my best."

Now you're pissed off, but there's an undercurrent of hurt, too, and you can hear it in your voice, "Show me you still want me. Convince me I'm still yours, and no one can ever take me away from you. That I belong to you. Prove it to me, damn it," you say, and for some reason _those_ were the magic words, as his resignation almost instantly switches to determination. 

 _Damn, maybe this talking stuff ain't so bad_ , you think as he rolls you over, and that sinfully beautiful mouth roughly caresses your lips, his tongue sweeping in and twining around yours. One hand buries in your hair as the other traces across your chest, and down your side to your hip, where his fingers dig into your flesh.  

Then his mouth is licking and his teeth are nipping down your neck and his hand wraps around your length. He knows your body _so well_ and that hand pump and little twist of his wrist makes you moan. 

"You're mine," harsh words that drag you deeper into pleasure, "every bit of you is mine. Forever."

You're panting as he pulls away and shoves you roughly onto your stomach. Your desire is such that for the first time, memories don't exist, _there's only you and Rick in this moment_. He stuffs an arm under your stomach and lifts you at the waist, pushing a pillow underneath you while his knee nudges your legs apart.

"Yes, yes, yes," you moan, "whatever you want, Rick."

.......

**Rick's Perspective**

The perfection of your husband's body takes your breath, and his words _prove it to me_ echo in your mind. You slide further down in the bed, kissing the backs of his thighs while you run your hand over that gorgeous ass. 

 _You will not rush this_ , you think, stretching his legs a little wider. How long have you waited to do this? You kiss and lick your way between his cheeks, nipping gently with your teeth as his body undulates beneath you. _So gorgeous_. 

You start to pull back, to find the lube, but he hands it to you, and you lean back to examine that tiny, clenching hole, and you've missed this, you lean down, laving your tongue all around his entrance, and then inside, and you can't stop licking him, even when he starts fussing at you to get on with it. 

You barely insert your finger and he's pushing against you, words and pleas sighing huskily, but there's no way you're going inside of him until he's very stretched. You add another finger, and he's cussing at you now, but you ignore him until you're satisfied that you won't hurt him. Below you, he's a glorious mess of need, and finally, you are satisfied with how open he is. 

Holding his hips, you line yourself against him and slowly, so slowly, fuck into him. Having him inside you is one of your favorite things in the world, so you get his desperation, the way he's rocking back against you, trying to shove you inside, but he's so tight that you can barely hold onto a thought. You have to fight yourself not to just ram into him, and then fuck him hard into the bed, but damn, he's making that moaning sound, his breath panting harshly in and out of his lungs.

How have you forgotten how much you love _possessing_ him like this? How much you love the silken tightness of his body?

"Fuck me, Rick," he's risen to his elbows and is eyeing you over that broad shoulder _and you lose your mind_.  The hard orbs of his ass cushion your pounding, and you pause briefly to drag him to his knees, and the angle is so perfect that your world narrows to the feel of him clenching around you, the pleasure rolling through, and the slap of your skin against his. 

"Harder!" he growls and you obey blindly, completely lost to pleasure. Completely lost in your husband. When he clenches insanely around you, arching his head between his shoulder blades, you grab his hair and tug him back to you, biting into his shoulder as he moans deeply in pleasure. 

Your orgasm almost makes you pass out and you collapse on top of him, totally spent.

Neither of you move for a while, until he whispers, "That was perfect."

You pull out of him and fall heavily beside him, "You're perfect." 

"No," he says, "we're perfect."

 Your smiles match, and your lips meet, and you sigh happily into each other's mouths. _And everything is perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This felt very in character (at least in character for who they are in this story) and it was time to address the aftermath of the rape. Realistic or no?


	28. Curls

**Rick's Perspective**

Leaving Michonne and Carl in charge is not even something you have to think deeply about when you decide to take Daryl back to your farm for the weekend. Your son is a little stunned, though, when you first suggest it, but he lifts his chin and _steel shines in his eyes_ , "I will protect the safe zone with my life."

Not necessarily the words a father longs to hear, but you appreciate the sentiment. Even if he wasn't your son, you'd be impressed with the young man standing tall in front of you. The army he commands are the most _regimented and skilled fighting unit_ you can imagine since the organized structure of the military ended at the dawn of the apocalypse. It's fascinating to watch them train, or go over the wall to take out the occasional herd. Recently, they've also started urban training in small, empty towns close to the safe zone. They study military tactics, and clear libraries of any military memoirs and histories. 

As a group, they are _way too serious_ for your liking, and sometimes you wish that Carl, Joanna, and the rest of the teenagers could actually have the chance to be teens, but this life has made them all sober, rarely smiling or laughing. 

Judith still makes Carl smile, though, and he occasionally makes silly expressions just to hear her laugh, and _that alone_ is why you try not to worry too much about your boy. 

Daryl keeps trying to prepare you that Carl and Joanna will soon leave your home and get their own place, but they are 15 and your mind can't wrap around the idea, even though Joanna practically lives with you now. You'll cross that bridge when you have to. 

Michonne is glowing with her baby bump, and just yesterday she'd grabbed your hand and pressed it against her stomach so you could feel the tiny kick. Her joy is infectious, and she's softer these days, and happy, _which makes you happy_. She and Henry have some bizarre sort of arrangement that you don't even try to figure out. Besides, this is working for her, and there is love between them, _and that's all you need to know_. 

Little Hershel is an adorable baby, so when Maggie and Glenn invited you and Daryl over for dinner and asked you to be godparents, _you'd been so moved_ , not just at their request, but also at the sheen of tears in Daryl's eyes. Maggie wants to have a dozen children, but Hershel's birth took decades off of Glenn's life, and you imagine this will be an ongoing argument between the pair.  

Beth moved out last week, officially moving in with Nathan, though she still spends a lot of time in your kitchen and remains Judith's main caregiver, and Judith knows her as momma. Your little girl is a bright light in all of your lives, though half of the time she ends up in bed with you and Daryl, and that has put a _damper_ on your sex life. 

Yet another reason you can't stop grinning as you and Daryl drive to the farm. It's a beautiful day and you drive with the windows down, truck loaded down with provisions. Every time you escape here for a day or two, you bring more things, and you and Daryl often joke about the farm being your "retirement home", though you still prefer referring to it as your "love nest". Daryl refuses to call it that, teasing you about being sounding very gay.

After arriving, the two of you separate and walk the fence line surrounding the farm. Safety will always come first, and the potential for threat never fully leave your mind when away from the safe zone. 

You meet back up, and your arms slip around each other, your hands locking at his waist while his go straight to your hair.

Daryl, blunt as always, "We fishing first or fucking?"

 _God, you love this man_. 

.......

 **Daryl's Perspective**  

"You might wanna get your haircut, too," Michonne says, flicking her fingers at the hair hanging in your eyes. 

"I cut it myself when it bothers me. Don't need no hairdresser messing it up, cutting too much."

She still looks bizarre without her dreads, and even though it's been two days since she cut them, and her short Afro now clearly displays the strong beauty of her face, you aren't used to her new look. Between her lack of hair and growing belly, she looks so different. And she's wearing some long, flowing dress thing, and she looks nothing like herself. 

"Rick and Carl just went in. No more curls," she says from beside you. 

 _What the fuck_? You grab her arm and spin her to face you, "What? Rick's not getting a haircut!"

But she smirks knowingly at you, and then you're running top speed across the safe zone, to the little business the new hairdresser opened close to the tanning shed. Jerking open the door, you rush inside in a total panic, but you don't see Rick anywhere. Carl's in the chair getting a buzz cut, and you gasp, holding your side, "Where's your dad?"

Carl, who's become a very serious young man, surprises you with twinkling eyes, "She buzzed him first."

 _No, no no no_ , you think, collapsing in the vacant chair beside him, "His curls are gone?"

"Yep," Carl nods, "she cut it so short that he's almost bald."

It's probably ridiculous how sad you feel, but you don't care as you slump further down into the chair. He'll still be Rick, you know, and things like hair aren't really that important, _but you loved those curls, damn it._ Twirling one around your finger is one of your favorite things in the world. You rest your forehead in your palm and ignore the conversation around you. How long will they take to grow back?

"Hey, Daryl, you getting a trim?" Rick's in front of you and you stare down at his boots, miserable about what you'll see. _Those were your curls, damn it._ As much yours as his _._

You don't look up at him, you can't just yet, and suddenly you're furious with him, and surge from the chair and fly out the door. Haven't been in the woods in a while, you think, might go spend a while out there, _give his hair time to grow back._

When you feel him beside you, his boots striking the ground beside yours, you demand, "Thought we were supposed to make big decisions together. Thought you were supposed to consult me 'bout important stuff."

"What?" he tugs you to a stop, "what do you mean?"

But you pull your hand away _you do not look at him because you might cry like a baby_ and head home. Need some provisions 'cause you're gonna be in the woods for a while.  

"What's wrong with you?" he asks your back because he's still following you, "what decision did I make without you?"

"You knew how I felt, but you went ahead and did what you wanted to do. And that's fine. So now I want to go spend some time in the woods. But see how I'm letting you know first?" 

"Daryl!" he yells, _and he never yells at you,_ so you stop, and a part of you waits for the hit, though in your heart you know Rick would never hit you. Still, the yell has you waiting in expectation. 

You feel him moving in front of you, so you shut your eyes and then his hands cup your face, "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. We can fix it, whatever it is."

A minute passes as you struggle through your feelings _you're acting crazy you know it,_ but you can't help it, you feel betrayed, "You cut your hair. Only time can fix that shit."

Rick makes a puzzled sound, "It's just a trim, Daryl. I can't even tell the difference."

You open your eyes and a buzz of happiness makes you feel drunk and light-headed. His hair is a bit shorter, _but those curls_ , they haven't gone anywhere, and you laugh, shoving your hands into them, silk twining around your fingers, and you slam your mouth to his, right there in the middle of the street. 

Grabbing his hand, you drag him home and up the stairs to your room. And later, after you're both glowing from explosive orgasms, you tell him, "I'm kicking your son's ass."

 .....

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have lots of ideas, but if there's a specific milestone or event you'd like to see, please share them in the comments. I can't promise my fingers will type exactly what you ask for, but I promise to try. :)


	29. Bet I Can Still Make You Hear Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More milestones, though not moving forward in time much at all.

**Rick's Perspective**

"In through the nose and out the mouth," you say, watching Michonne, your heart in your throat.

"Done this before, Rick," she's eyeing you in concern, and _maybe_ you do feel a little lightheaded, "I know how to breathe."

Though you hadn't been there for Judith's birth, you remember Carl's. Lori had screamed in pain for hours, but here is Michonne, seemingly relaxed, and only giving an occasional grimace and series of fast huffs of breaths.

And trying to reassure _you_ , "Birth is natural. Everything's going to be fine."

But of the five babies born that you know of in recent years, two of the mothers died in childbirth.

_And this is Michonne._

You gently run the wet cloth over her face and try to get ahold of yourself. A contraction balls the mass of her stomach and Henry squeals from her grip on his hand, but she pants through it and then shoots you a tired smile.

"Rick and Henry," Beth says calmly, "Maggie and I are taking over now, so if you would..." she points to the door.

Outside on the porch, Daryl waits with Carl and Glenn. Henry stumbles out beside you, and as you grasp his elbow to steady him, he throws himself at you, wraps his arms tightly around your waist, and cries on your shoulder.

You pat his back awkwardly, "She's gonna be fine. The baby is gonna be fine."

He leans back and blood shot green eyes meet yours, "But what if it's not fine? What if..." then he's dampening your shoulder again. You hold him as you meet Daryl's eyes, and you can tell Daryl's _trying to be understanding_ of Henry pressed so close to you, but his lips have disappeared into a hard line. Personally, you're upset about Michonne, too, she's your best friend, and you want to shove Henry away so you can go cry your fears on Daryl.

_What will you do if something happens to Michonne?_

Hours pass, Henry is laid out on the couch in exhaustion and Michonne is finally making some noise from the bedroom. It's still not the loud volume you'd expect, but it makes you hopeful that the baby will soon be here.

A sweaty Maggie appears in front of you, "Rick, she wants you."

Your eyebrows almost disappear into your hairline as you flick a glance at sleeping Henry. Daryl sends you a smile and nod, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he notes your confusion, "Go deliver that baby, Rick."

You flip him off and follow Maggie into the bedroom. Michonne's laid back in the bed, her knees pulled up awkwardly, and thankfully a sheet covers most of whatever is happening down there. You go to her head and she grabs your hand to tug you sitting down beside her, and presses her wet cheek against your thigh.

"How do you feel?"

"Like my body is going to split in two. Stupid question, so don't talk anymore, okay? Just sit there," but she smiles at you before she starts huffing again. You can feel the force of her breath against your leg.

Beth peers under the sheet, and then her head disappears entirely, and Michonne moans softly in pain, "Beth's gonna have to turn the baby and I want you here. Nothing can go wrong if you're here, Rick." 

It's a bizarre thing to say, but she looks so confident in your ability that you just nod and stroke your hand over her hair. You know this isn't good, having to turn the baby, but you're not going to ask stone-faced Beth any questions. Maggie shoves back the sheet, tossing you a glare like you'd dare say anything.

"Rick, if anything happens to me, I want you and Daryl to raise this baby. Henry will eventually be a fun father, but he's clueless. Promise me," she grimaces in pain and demands, "promise me."

"I promise. Nothing's going to happen," you start, and she glares at you, "but I promise. Daryl and I will raise your child."

"I mean, let Henry do as much as he wants, but try not to pressure him. You and Daryl do the raising. If it's a girl, name her Andrea, okay? Since I know Daryl has to give everyone a nickname, make sure he calls her Andy, okay? That'll be cute, huh?" and then she spends a moment grimacing and panting. You glance down at Beth to where she's kneeling between Michonne's legs.  Blond hair soaked with sweat, she's grimacing almost as hard as Michonne as the slim muscles in her arms bunch with effort.

Maggie peers over Beth's shoulder, "Gonna have to cut her."

Fear floods you, and it almost impossible to speak, but you manage to croak out, "No, keep trying!"

"Not talking about a C section, Rick. An episiotomy. Most women need one," Maggie assures you, but your fear doesn't lessen.

"Stop watching and listen to me, damn it," Michonne says and you drag your eyes back to hers, "If it's a boy, I want to name him Rickyl."

Your mouth drops open, "Rick and Daryl blended together?"

"Yeah, and Daryl can nickname him, but his actual recorded name is Rickyl. I don't care if you think it's stupid," tears of pain are tracing her cheeks and you'd promise her anything.

"And regardless of boy or girl, I want them to have my katana, and Carl to teach them how to use it one day."

"I'll make sure of it," you say, tears hotly rolling down your face, too, "I love you, Michonne."

Maggie and Beth say together, "Push!"

And then Michonne pushes down hard, and you see that Beth has successfully managed to turn the baby, "I can see the head!"

"Quit looking damn it," Michonne groans at you, so you hold her eyes through the next series of pushes.

"One more!" Beth encourages, and you can't help but turn to watch the miracle below.

.......

Michonne has passed out, but Beth assures you it's just exhaustion. Maggie takes baby Andrea while Beth works on Michonne, and afterwards, you help her change the linens and clean up. When Henry appears in the doorway holding the squalling baby, you congratulate him, and examine Andrea's tiny, scrunched-up face, "Beautiful. And healthy lungs."

Henry proudly smiles at you, so you leave the little family and go searching for yours. Daryl and Carl are on the porch smoking cigars and Daryl hands you one, "From Henry."

You nod at Carl, biting your tongue at the smoke billowing from his 16 year old mouth, especially when he pins you with a hard look, daring you. Daryl's eyes are clearly telling you to _choose your battles._ You pocket the cigar and lean against Daryl as he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

"Michonne's fine?" he asks.  

"I think so. Beth says she is," and he hugs you tighter as you whisper tiredly in his ear, "take me home. That almost killed me."

 .......

**Daryl's Perspective**

"So Joanna and I want our own place. He's probably gonna freak out, so um, would you talk to him? It's gonna happen regardless of what he says, so you might as well soothe the path for us," Carl's earnest expression makes you wonder about this prepared-sounding speech. Buttering up one parent to deal with the other is a time-tested technique, you suppose, and Carl had begun this little conversation by reminding you that you function as his second father. 

Maybe _buttering you up too_? Definitely, the little shit. 

"Look," you say, "I know this world has made you made older than you are, but your dad's got a point. What's the rush?"

Carl locks gazes with you, the maturity in his eyes shining as he leans closer and whispers, "I've heard you telling dad to be quiet many times. More times than I can count. Is that fun, to have to shush up your lover?"

Your mouth opens, but you can't speak past the embarrassment to actually form words. _Have you ever blushed so hard_? Rick does get loud sometimes, and part of that volume is your fault since you're addicted to those breathy little moans he makes. So much so that you try to draw them out at least once a day, sometimes more. But it's not like the two of you actually thought anyone could hear you.

But the kid makes a good point and you do agree with him. It's a different world and if he wants to try for a life with Joanna, you'll support him, "I'll talk to him, but you need more arguments than we can have louder sex once you're out of the house." 

Carl plugs his fingers into his ears, looking his age for once, "Please no, I don't want to know any more than I already do about my two dads' sex lives!"

"You brought it up."

"Yeah, remind me not to do that again," he grins, and darts away from your incoming shove, and then comes back to meet your eyes, "Thanks Daryl. Can y'all blame me for wanting the happiness you two have?"

You shake your head no as he leaves, maybe to go talk to Joanna, though truthfully it's been a long while since you or Rick have tried to keep up with Carl's whereabouts.  The boy is pretty grown. 

........

Rick's rocking a snoozing Judith and you sit beside him, the two of you watching Carl's army move out his things in one trip. He'd scoffed when you'd offered to help, "Getting too old to be moving furniture and boxes."

Rick had bit his tongue, and even though _the two of you combined_ have not a ounce of fat on you, and work as hard as any of those snot-nosed teenagers, it seems as though references to your great age are common these days. 45 and 43 are old in this world, you suppose, so you'd done nothing more than glare at Carl. You'd rather sit here with Rick and Judith and watch, anyway.

Carl's army trail like worker ants out your door to two houses down, and you can only smirk at the thought rolling through your mind, it wouldn't be impossible to ensure Carl _still got to hear_ his father's passion if you really put your mind to it.

Rick's been looking miserable all morning, but now when he sees your expression, he smiles sexily at you, reading your intent if not your exact meaning, "Beth's coming to get Judy in a few. All weekend."

......

It's been over a month since you and Rick could escape to your retirement home and you're even more excited by the time away than normal. A couple of weeks backs, you'd scored several things on a run that you were _dying_ to make use of. 

"Ah," Rick says, "Our love nest," as you pull up in front of the farmhouse. 

"Last time. It's a retirement home," you say sternly, but you really don't care what Rick calls the place, it's become something of a running joke, and you _love_ every one of these tiny jokes that connect you to him.

His eyes twinkle at you as he leans close for a quick, hard kiss, "Damn, I can't wait to get you naked."

You grab the back of his head, "Slow down, husband," and he laughs at you as you move forward for a much slower nibble at his lips.

Ah, _your husband_. It's another little joke, how in the first few months after your marriage, you'd repeatedly used the word to refer to him. Like constantly. To everyone at every opportunity. Drawing out the word slowly, letting it dance across your tongue, twirl in your heart.

Yeah, your family still pokes a bit of fun of you, but fuck it, you love saying it. You never thought you'd marry, have a spouse of your own. Now, though, you mostly limit calling him that to when it's just the two of you. And saying it still gives you a possessive thrill. _A rightness_.

"We don't have to slow down. We have all weekend," he says, smiling into your kisses.

"Got some plans," you say, and his smile widens. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo! A sexual cliffhanger. Lol, I always write more on the weekends, so I felt safe in doing this to you. What do you think of these moments I'm writing? I have a whole other plot bunny that revolves around Negan, but I'm just not sure I want to go dark again, and truly, I love just letting these moments roll out.


	30. Surprise # 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter immediately follows the last. Enjoy, my sweets.

**Daryl's Perspective**

Safety always comes first, though you and Rick walk the property line together this time. Neither of you want to separate, even knowing that this job would be faster apart. You wouldn't be surprised if you spent every minute of the weekend together. Not only is it such a novelty to be completely alone, but the two of you can also go for hours without saying a word, and that companionable silence has replaced the deep quiet of the woods as your favorite time to just _be_.

You follow Rick down the fence line, mainly so you can watch him walk. Rick's always had a confident walk, sort of a flowing swagger _that you'd been in love with_ long before you'd sorted through your feelings for the man, but now he knows you're watching him, and he's added a little sexy something that makes you smile. That walk is for you, and it turns you on to know how much he wants you. How much he _always_ wants you.

His jeans hug his ass just right, your mouth waters and your jeans tighten painfully around your erection, which you have to adjust several times. Once the farm is deemed safe and the fencing intact, you stalk behind him, walking very close, but not touching yet, holding back for the moment, and he lets you treat him like prey, drawing out this anticipation. You match your stride to his, walking in unison, just a half a step behind him. He tosses you a seductive look over his shoulder and you admire how he does that, _sets you on fire with just a searing blue glance_. Your husband may just be the most gorgeous man alive, to you he is, and you take a second to thank whatever gods exist for letting you have him for your own.

You're several hundred yards from the farmhouse when his fingers edge up the hem of his tshirt. There are only inches between you now, and a part of your mind _marvels_ at the synchronization of your steps as the rest of the blood left in your brain focuses on those fingers, slowly tugging up his shirt, exposing tantalizing views of skin, his waist, then his ribs, and finally his shoulders. With a lazy motion, he tugs it completely over his head, briefly leaving his arms up in the air, _all gorgeous lean muscle_ , before flinging the shirt wildly to the ground. A growling sound thunders low in your chest, and his hands go to his belt buckle, whipping the leather from his pants loops in one hard tug, then flinging it somewhere off to the side. Without the belt, his jeans begin to slip down with each step he makes until they barely hang on his hips and you can see the flair of the bunching muscles at the top of his ass.

You're barely conscious of ripping off your own shirt and dropping it to the side, or your own belt following his. You don't make a conscious decision to tackle him either, your body just takes over and both of you fall in the grass. Mouths clash hotly, tongues, lips, and teeth almost attacking one another until you break away, gasping for breath, and the love and lust in his eyes has you quickly turning your body to put your hips in his face and nuzzle your own mouth against the bulge in his pants. Fingers pop buttons and zippers are down, pants tugged just out of the way of your mouths as you both suck one another in. _So damn good_ to feel his tongue wrapped around you as you suck at the silk of him. Your arousal hits another peak as you realize he's mimicking you, his tongue and mouth on your dick doing exactly what you're doing, regardless of how you swirl your tongue or suck down on him. _Fucking amazing_.

Pulling your mouth back, you meet the heat his eyes and pump him in your hand, "Damn Rick."

"Damn Daryl," he replies huskily, before taking you deep in his throat. You moan, wishing you could do that to him, but both the pleasure flooding you and your inability to open your throat _like he does_ has you barely pumping your hand around him, so you give up, and just bury your face against his crotch, and hold on. He thrusts against you as he sucks, the muscles of his throat squeezing you perfectly, as every third stroke or so he tugs you just out of his airway so he can snort in a breath in through his nose. You feel the orgasm building just as he slams you deep, his lips at the base of your dick, his finger starting to work its way into your ass, and when you feel him somehow work his tongue out of his stretched mouth to lick at your balls, you explode, vaguely aware of the choking sound he makes as you come deep inside him.

You collapse against him, seemingly boneless, huffing breaths against his still hard flesh, but he sits up, and your head rolls back slightly in his lap, but it's enough space for him to wrap a hand around himself and jerk roughly at his dick. It only takes a couple of strokes, and you weakly lift your head to catch most of his come with your mouth, though some of it splatters across your face.

He lays back in the grass, and you're not sure where you find the energy to shove yourself up beside him, "I was gonna..."

"Shut up," he says hoarsely, and then his thumb is rubbing the wet spots on your face and circling your lips with his come. You lick at it, then his tongue is cleaning your face, pausing every so often to dip in your mouth and share the taste with you. _So fucking sexy,_ your husband.

"Tell me more about these plans of yours," he demands, his voice a little raw from having your dick abusing his vocal chords, but you just grin at him.

......

**Rick's Perspective**

Several months ago, you and Michonne had found some solar-powered generators, and taken all but one to the safe zone. So now your love nest is fully equipped with running water and a decent amount of stored power. This helps in cooking the four fish you and Daryl fry, and you eat on the front porch, watching the sunset. How often in the world before had you actually paused to appreciate things like sunsets? You hook an arm around Daryl's waist and tug him against you. As the last glow of orange disappears under the horizon, you go inside and clean up the few dishes, smiling at the handsome man beside you, so incredibly content and happy.

When he steers you to the bedroom and gently pushes you back on the bed, you remember his surprises, so you lean expectantly against the headboard.

He hands you a portable DVD player, "Remember that time we talked about porn and neither of us had seen any guy stuff? Well, found this," and tosses a DVD into your lap.

Shocked, you look up at him and hold up the DVD Balls to the Ass Walls, "You really want to watch this?"

"I don't know," he shrugs awkwardly, face bright red, and his embarassment makes you want to to kick yourself for being such an ass. If he wants to watch gay porn, by god you'll watch it.

You send him a smile, "Come on. I'll watch it with you. I was just surprised, that's all."

"Naw, fuck it, 'snot a good idea," but you open the case and load the disc into the player.

As the opening credits roll across the screen, you pat the bed beside you, "Get your ass over here. I'm not watching this by myself."

Finally, he does move beside you, eyes downcast. You snuggle into his side and prop the player on his stomach. It's absolutely the worst production you've ever seen, and that includes Carl's grade school plays. The acting is horrible and two men, neither all that attractive, are naked within 1 minute of meeting one another. The guy on top doesn't even prepare the other one, he just slams into him, and the dialogue... There's not a sexy thing about it.

The guy on top says, "You like that big dick, don't you, you little slut?"

You look over at Daryl out of the corner of your eyes and he's looking back at you, and then he starts to chuckle and so do you and you laugh into each other until tears are rolling down your faces.

"I don't know why I thought that might be fun," he finally says, hicupping loudly.

You climb on top of him and press your forehead to his, "It was fun. I haven't laughed like that since Judith spent that whole month yelling out 'gay white boy'."

You both grin in memory, and then his eyes squeeze tightly shut, "Sorry we even watched a minute of that thing. I never should have..."

"Hey, there was nothing wrong with trying it. And maybe a different one would be better," you refuse to let him feel embarrassed about this.

"Naw, I don't want to watch two guys ever again, unless it's us in a mirror or something."

"I never even liked straight porn."

"Well, Merle watched it a lot, but can't say I paid a lot of attention. Already knew women weren't for me."

"How old were you when you figured it out? That you were gay?" 

"Twelve. I was with Merle and some of his buddies. There was one, Tommy Milton was his name, anyway, we got separated from the others and I tripped or something and he caught me, but he didn't let go. Just kept holding onto me, sort of pressing me against him. Then he kissed me, so I punched him and he ran off. Then he stopped coming around, but it never left my head. And I knew why girls weren't that interesting."

You cup his face in your hands, "I'm so glad I found you."

"Me too."

The silence stretches for a moment before you ask, "Was that all of your plans?"

"Naw, but the rest is stupid, too."

"Don't be like that, Daryl." 

He tucks his head and leans off the bed to dig through his bag, "Don't look yet."

You shut your eyes and wait, prepared to lie, if necessary, about whatever he's tossing up beside you on the bed. You're a little scared, actually, about what he might have found and brought. With Merle as his example, you prepare yourself for anything.

As was smart of you.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've heard your voices and will not introduce Negan. Instead I shall let this sexy beast of a story meander where it will, and trust me, it has its own life and surprises my fingers every time I enter their world. Though, this is a ZA, so all will not always be sunshine and moonbeams, but for now, it is! As always, your feedback inspires me, so comment.


	31. Everything He Deserves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just our boys during the rest of their weekend. Picks up exactly where the last chapter left off.
> 
> I added a couple of scenes to the end to advance us a bit into the future. :) 
> 
> Ps. Sorry for the delay in posting.

**Rick's Perspective**

 

You try to keep your expression carefully blank as you turn to look at the bed beside you, but it's hard. What _in the hell_ is all of this stuff?

You have a flashback to a raid you once conducted with the sheriff's department. The prostitute wasn't your focus, but the criminal you were after had holed up in her apartment. In her bedroom were dozens of sex toys, things you'd never even imagined, and your husband has apparently decided to _outdo_ that prostitute's collection.

You gingerly pick up the edge of a giant penis-shaped vibrator and lift your eyes to Daryl's. He's not looking back, though, and you honestly have no idea _what to say_. You see the awkwardness in his shoulders and your heart thumps a little faster. You will _not_ embarrass him. But this stuff...

Is it weird that tamest thing in front of you is the bag of marijuana? Drugs and sex toys. You sigh carefully, _he's trying_ , and you don't want to discourage him, but damn, you'd been hoping for some more women's undergarments or something. Something a bit tamer.

"Just thought some of it looked interesting," he says quietly, so you reach out and grab his hand.

"Like what?" you say as neutrally as possible, glancing down at something you think is a butt plug, the damn thing looking about as far from "interesting" as you can imagine.

"The weed maybe. Merle said it heightened sensation. He always smoked 'fore sex."

How scared are you of the rest of that you hurry to agree? You know you've always been something of a stiff, some may even consider you a prude, the kind of guy who follows the rules and respects the law. You and Lori's sex life had been very vanilla, and even though being with Daryl is a hundred times better, the two of you are probably still pretty tame by other people's standards.

"Sure," you find yourself saying, "let's smoke that together!"

You are a bit too loud, though, and a small smile quirks his lips, "You ever gotten high, Rick?"

He knows you haven't, and has heard you talk of the dangers of drugs before, but he's daring you now, to either take back that you want to smoke with him or fire up the tiny pipe sitting beside the anal beads. 

"Is our sex boring you?" you immediately want to take the words back, but there is a tiny part of you that starting to feel hurt, as though what the two of you have isn't enough. Once Lori had brought home a vibrator and you swore she liked that thing much more than your dick.

"The fuck you talking 'bout?" he demands, glaring at you.

"These things?" you gesture at the array, and speak very carefully, "I think people use this stuff to find excitement again?"

He glares at you from underneath his hair and flings out his arm to send most of the toys flying off of your bed, "Fuck it. Knew this shit was stupid," but when he tries to jerk up and away, you grab him and tug him back. He huffs, but lets you hold him.

"It's not stupid! You were thinking of us. I love that, I mean it, Dary, and we'll keep it all. Maybe one day when you're bored with me..."

"Why you keep saying bored? Pretty sure you know that's not true."

You start to explain, tell him about Lori's vibrator, how you knew she used it when you weren't home, how several times after sex she'd disappeared into the bathroom and apparently buzzed herself to the orgasm you'd been unable to give her. How you'd laid there feeling worthless and incapable. And completely miserable. But talking about Lori always seems to make _him_ miserable, so you bite your tongue and lean away, reaching over the side of your bed to snatch up that enormous fake dick and rip open the packaging.

You hold it up in the air, "Roll over then."

His eyes widen and he stares at the monstrosity like he's seeing it for the first time. After a moment, the corners of his eyes crinkle, and blue amusement shines at you, "Nope. Got that one for you."

You grin, "Oh no, I insist we try it out on you first. Now spread your legs."

He lunges at you, wrestles you back on the pillows and you put up a mock fight until you're both panting and ripping off clothing. Later, when he's deep in you and looking down at you like you're his whole world, you say breathlessly, "You're the only thing I want to feel inside me."

He gasps and slams hard into you, "Never get bored of this, Rick."

Afterwards, when he's collapsed beside you, repeatedly kissing your shoulder, you tell him, "I'm sorry if I acted like a stick in the mud. We can try anything you want to try, I mean it, Daryl."

"Quit worrying 'bout it. Don't mind you're so straight-laced and all," his teeth nip at your skin, "I love who you are. Don't need that shit, just saw it and thought you might want something extra. You know I ain't ever used anything like that. Thought that was just what people did. Why else would there be a whole store of this stuff?"

"I guess some people do and I will if you want to. I'll do anything for you. You know that."

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

And you know he would.

You still feel a little silly about all those sex toys, but Rick ain't about to let you feel bad about it. When he'd held up the giant penis thing, you'd realized how stupid you'd been to bring this stuff home, and how had it hurt you that he thought this meant he wasn't _enough_ for you? He's everything. You don't know shit about sex other than what you've learned in his arms. And you've already learned enough for a lifetime.

But damn, you'd love to see him high.  You carefully pack some marijuana into the pipe and avoid his eyes. This is the only drug you'd ever liked, and you light the end, drawing in the harsh smoke, and then handing the pipe to Rick. It's hard not to bust out laughing at his expression, but he takes it from you, carefully puffing, looking into your eyes with trepidation.  You take another small hit and pass it back.

"We're just doing 2 hits," you assure him, watch as he takes a tiny puff, and then sets the pipe on the nightstand.  You tug him back beside you and lean over to press your lips to his. A mellow swirl floats in your mind and his lips look like candy, so you start kissing him slowly, nibbling and gently tugging at the beauty of his mouth. You bury your hands in his curls, cupping the back of his head, and though he's responding, he lets you lead. The sensation is a little heightened, but truthfully his mouth is always like a playground to you, and after you've loved on his lips, you use your tongue to explore every bit of his mouth. Slowly you work your way on top of him and for the next hour or so, you rock slowly against one another, mouths glued together. So languid, so arousing.  

Finally, after both of you have come, you stare into his eyes, "That was beautiful."

"You're beautiful," he says, and your hard-on roars back, "but now I want you to fuck me."

You don't have to be asked twice. Later, when you stand beside him in the kitchen, feeding him strawberries, you can't stop laughing as he waxes poetic about the size of the universe and what walkers probably think about.  

All in all, the weed was a great idea.

**.........**

**Rick's Perspective**  

"Gotta show you something," Daryl says the next morning down at the dock. You are fishing again, trying to catch enough to take home to the safe zone for a family fish fry, as he lounges on a blanket beside you, reading a novel. 

You take a minute before looking over at him, _preparing yourself for almost anything,_ but then you do look and love floods you. A pair of reading glasses are perched on his nose and he looks so sexy.

Fishing rod forgotten, you move beside him, and take his face in your hands. His shyness turns you inside out, moves your heart, and you meet his eyes through the lenses, "You look like a professor."

He grunts and that gorgeous mouth quirks, "Look like a nerd. An old nerd."

"A very sexy nerd. My sexy nerd."

He tucks his head, "Just for close-up," then pins you with a hard stare, "can still see just fine far off."

You grin, he's _so funny_ to you, so full of bluster over a little pair of bifocals, so you hold up two fingers, "How many fingers am I holding up, professor?"

"Fuck you, Rick."

"Don't mind if I do," you say and reach down to rub at the soft flesh of his dick. He hardens quickly and reaches up to take off the glasses, but you shake your head no, and knock his hand away, "I want to fuck you while you wear them."

Finally, he smiles at you, "Kinky," then gestures down to your other hand that's rubbing him through his jeans, "you should unzip them."

The tip of his tongue licks a pink swipe across his lips and his eyes close behind the lenses. So sexy.

You unzip his pants and dear god in heaven, the man has on the infamous pink panties.

**.......**

**Daryl's Perspective**

Dawn is barely starting to paint the sky when you reach the swimming pool. No one is ever swimming this early in the morning, and that's how you and Rick like it, this is your favorite time of the day. You swim with him for a minute, and then just hook an arm over the edge of the pool and watch him do laps. As always, you enjoy watching the precise cut of his arms chopping into the water, and the small splashes as he kicks.

When he finally pauses beside you, wrapping his arms around your waist, you kiss his wet shoulder, and rub against his slick body, "If we dug a pool at the farm, we could get naked."

"I like that idea," he says breathlessly, nuzzling his face in your neck, "let's do it."

"One day I want you to teach me how to swim on top of the water like you do," you say as he grinds against you.

"Anytime," his breath pants softly against you. The two of you are just teasing one another's dicks at the moment, though, respecting the fact that many people swim in this water, "though I like watching you swim like a frog. How'd you learn to do that?"

"Merle taught me. It's the only way he knew."

His thumbs stroke across your cheeks, "You loved your brother."

A sad pang clenches your heart, you know he'd hated Merle, but is willing to remember him _through your eyes_ , and it suddenly becomes important that he understand.

"He took beatings for me so many times. If he was home and saw daddy start to focus on me, he'd say some stupid asshole shit to get the old man's attention on him. He always brought me cigarettes, made sure I at least had something to eat, and wouldn't let his friends call me a fag.  Might not sound like much, but was all I had."

Rick kisses you gently, "I'm glad you had him."

"I'm glad he saved me so I could meet you."

"Me too," he says, and you are content he's acknowledged the good that was in Merle. Makes you feel _at peace_ about your brother, makes you love Rick more than ever.

He looks up at the sky and whispers, "Thank you, Merle Dixon. Your little brother is my whole world."

......

**Rick's Perspective**

Though mostly everyone, _including Michonne_ , has been surprised at what a good father Henry's turned out to be, you're not. Fatherhood changes a man, especially when he allows it to. Back before the apocalypse, it was too easy for a parent to abandon a child and not hang around long enough to see the tremendous joys. Maybe if Henry had untold numbers of men at his fingertips, clubs to hop, and the world at his gorgeous feet, he wouldn't have stuck around, but then he would have missed this. This beautiful _connection_ he has with baby Andy.

Your god baby. Yes, you and Daryl are godparents again. You are bouncing Hershel on your knee while Daryl sits beside you on a blanket. He's holding a drowsy Andy. They are both beautiful babies, and between Glenn's Korean blood in Hershel, and Michonne's African heritage, Andy and Hershel have almost matching shades of light tan skin. Henry's green eyes shine from Andy and Maggie's green from Hershel. In fact, the two babes almost look like siblings, except Hershel's dark hair is straight whereas Andy has a head full of curls. They are basically being raised as brother and sister considering how tightnit all of you are.

Judy comes running up, her hair full of wildflowers, and she spins in circles as baby Hershel laughs at her antics. She drops heavily to the blanket, snuggling between you and Daryl.  How _natural_ it is to lay back, Hershel sprawled on your chest, and Andy on Daryl's. You doze for a while, opening your eyes to a large audience of safe zone residents smiling indulgently down at you. Glenn has a camera, snapping away, and you turn to Daryl and the blue of his eyes burns into your soul. 

"What did I ever do to deserve all this?" he whispers. It's a little awkward to lean over Judith and not wake Hershel, but you kiss him.  

Later Glenn prints the picture for you, you and Daryl's mouths barely touching, covered by sleeping children. It goes in a frame on your nightstand.

 _A moment in time, capturing everything he deserves_. 


	32. Or Die Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Daryl, and their extended family, into the future. With upcoming action! Yes, I'm still here, and still in love with telling this story, stay with me, dear readers.

**Rick's Perspective**

Time passes so quickly, doesn't it? You blink and your baby girl is a demanding 8 year old staring you down over her independence, hands planted on her stubborn hips. She's been attending target practice for over a year, but she now wants a bow. She wants to hunt. With Daryl. _Outside the wall_.

When Daryl finds and brings home a child-sized bow, you want to _strangle_ him. He doesn't say a word to you, just hands a beaming Judith the bow and a small bag of arrows, saying he'll take her hunting first thing in the morning.

In all of your years together, you can count the number of times you and Daryl have fought on one hand.  Most disagreements are wordless, a battle of the eyes until one or both of you let it go, but this is different.

_He's undermined you._

"So you just make a decision about our daughter without me?"

"My daughter, too," the thumbnail in his mouth distracts you briefly, his oral fixations always have and probably always will. You shake your head, both to dispel the sight and his ridiculous point. Of course she's his daughter. 

"What I see is that my thoughts don't matter. You've already gifted and promised her," you finally manage, and damn it _you are hurt_ by the way he handled this.

"Rick you would have talked this to death," his eyes clearly saying _you know how you are._

"As is my right," you poke him in the chest hard and then turn to walk away, casting one more _how could you_ look over your shoulder.

You don't see him again until that night at dinner, neither of you speak to one another, though he and Judy talk about hunting and tracking. Judy's animated expressions and nonstop questions grate on your nerves.

Nathan and a very pregnant Beth are there, too, but you barely say a word to anyone, and look away from Beth's concern.

You don't meet Daryl's eyes a single time, _how is he just ignoring your anger_? Fuck this. You stand up so abruptly your chair almost topples over.

"Have a good evening," you nod in Beth and Nathan's direction, and then kiss the top of Judy's head, "I probably won't see you before bed. Sweet dreams, sweetie."

Judy's big blue eyes meet yours and _for once_ , she's silent, sending you a worried smile.

As you exit the kitchen, Daryl gruffly calls, "Where you going?"

"Out," you say, closing the front door.

The only bar in the safe zone, John's Safe Tavern, is not the bar of yesteryear, but there's homemade beer, so that's where you head.

The ten patrons, mainly single men, all have the same question, _where's Daryl,_ peering over your shoulder. Again, concerned looks abound. Fuck this. Can't even have a damn beer in peace. You down the one in your hand and ask for another to go.

John pours you an entire pitcher, and after knocking back the top, you climb the main wall, sitting silently, staring above at the stars and nursing your beer. The stuff is strong and numbing and the feeling fits your mood.

When Daryl silently climbs up beside you, peace tries to shove aside your anger, but you grit your teeth and attempt to ignore the rightness of his presence. _Damn man makes you weak still_ even after all these years.

"I may not have went about it in the right way, but I am right. I have skills, Rick, things she needs to know. Survival stuff. The safe zone may not always be here. She needs to know how'ta survive out there, just in case," his voice husky.  Your body betrays you by swaying toward him.

"Maybe. But you undermined me. I don't do that to you," you finally say, and his arm drapes over your shoulder and tugs you toward him.

"Rick, we've been talking about this for 6 months. Maybe I didn't do this the right way, but I'm still right."

You know he is, but Judy will always be your baby. He tugs you closer, and you sigh and release the lingering edges of your anger. As Daryl leans back, you follow the line of his body, still as broad and muscular as ever, and lay your head on his shoulder.The universe in all its infinity twinkles above you as _your universe_ twines his hand into your hair.

"She'll always be our baby," he sighs, "but a self-sufficient one. We'll make sure of it," and when he leans in to kiss you, you sigh into his mouth. You can never stay mad at him.

.......

Carl. How does one determine man's worth? Is it his take charge attitude, how as a child he became a leader amongst his peers? Is it in his determination for you to see him as an equal? Or is it simply that he was born to be a general?

"You worry too much," Daryl tosses his line into the pond, sending you a little warning glare, "Stop it."

Over the years, he's mastered fishing and now easily beats you in numbers, which is fine because the two of you are expected to bring home enough for a family fish fry, and man, has your family grown.

Michonne and Henry have three little girls to spoil, Maggie and Glenn chase after their two boys, and Beth's new son is a bright light in your lives. You and Daryl have six godchildren, and since Carl's wife Joanna is now pregnant, you're about to be a grandpa.

"You got a bite there, Gramps," Daryl tugs your pole from your hands, hooking the fish and reeling it in, "this one counts for me, too."

"I know," you throw up your hands in mock surrender, "you're a better fisherman than me. And don't call me gramps."

Daryl leans over and lightly presses his lips to yours, "My husband, the sexy grandpa."

You shove him and the two of you laugh, wrestling across the dock, first he pins you, but you easily flip him, your chest pinning his, your hips pressed against his, and you feel yourself harden, blood rushing away from your brain.

"Horny grandpa," he whispers, tugging your mouth to his. Your passion flares, familiar and comfortable. It's not that he doesn't still rock your world _because he always does_ it's that over the years you've become one with him, and every part of your bodies move in unison. Your hands know exactly how to touch, your mouths blend until it's impossible to tell where you stop and he begins.

Right now, the way his hips surge up into yours and his hands tug at your hair, he wants it rough, and instantly, so do you.

"We need to fuck constantly over the next 7 months," he whispers huskily against your lips, grinning, "cause once you're a grandpa..."

You pull back slightly, knowing he's joking, but feeling a little hurt nonetheless. The idea of edging 50 has been turning your stomach in recent months and his whispered words tie that feeling into a knot, a pressure of age weighting your chest.

It's instant, the contrite expression squinting blue at you, how he just knows what you're thinking, "You know I'll always want you, until the day I die I'll want this," his hands pressing you, grinding your hips against his.

"I know," you're still saddened though, wishing you'd met him in your youth and had loved him your entire life. Of course, you'd never forgo your children, but still. _So many years wasted without him._

He rolls off of you, gathering you into his arms, and you tuck your face into his neck, "Rick, man, you know I was joking. You've got to let this age thing go."

"Says the younger man in my life," you smile a little against his skin, breathing deeply of the woodsy scent that is all Daryl.

"Psst. 2 years. Might as well be the same age," into your hair.

"Is it time, Daryl? To hand it all over to Carl and step back?"

Grasping your curls, he tugs your head back, meeting your eyes, "That what you want or the calendar's urging you to do? 'Cause the way I see it is you're as strong as ever and even though Carl might be ready, there's no reason for him to take over. Not yet."

..........  
**Daryl's Perspective**

You know Rick's not joking and it hurts you. Those sexy blue eyes, creased by laugh lines, look too defeated and you have to fix this, "I think being the lawman has become tedious. Considering Michonne's just as bored and frustrated as you are, I think you two need a couple more deputies. Start going out again, outside the walls, and not just come here."

His eyes brighten at the idea, "Maybe you're right. Maybe a change of pace is the answer."

"Course I'm right," you scoff, and tug him back on top of you, rubbing your erections together, "Now fuck me already."

.......

By the third day, you're starting to worry. Michonne and Rick planned an 8 hour trip, but you'd expected them home last night, at the very latest. This morning you, Judith, Henry and 5 of your godchildren are clustered around the front porch, staring down the road that leads to the front gate. The kids, infected by the adults' worry, sit still and silent.

"What if they ran into some bad group?" Henry asks for the 3rd time in the last hour.

You reassure yourself as much as him, "Then they'll handle it."

Henry's a nervous wreck, and his pacing is driving you a bit insane. Hell, this frustrated inaction is driving you insane.

"Look," you finally say, "they left on Monday, even if they got held up, they should'a been back yesterday. First thing in the morning, I'll take Adam and Paul and go find them. They'll probably be back before then, though."

"Oh thank you, Daryl," and that damn Henry has you wrapped in his arms. You tolerate it for a couple of seconds and then break away. No one but Rick gets to press against you like that.

Later that night, you catch a glance of yourself in the hallway mirror. Your hair is standing crazily, finger-combed to death, and your eyes have disappeared into puffs of exhaustion.

Sleep. You need sleep so you can bring Rick home. _How can you sleep without him, though?_

In y'all's bed, you hug his pillow to you, breathing deeply of his scent. Having barely caught any shut eye since Monday, you whisper, "You better be all right, god damn you. You have to come home. You have to."

There's no doubt in your mind that if you lost him, you'd lose the will to live. Without him? Fuck that shit. Even the rest of your family wouldn't hold you to this earth, you'd waste away to nothing. Dead of a broken heart.

You think back to the night before he left, the eager cockiness in his walk, how young and alive he looked, so excited about the dynamic duo's upcoming adventure, how he'd grinned, that perfect mouth stretched wide, eyes twinkling.

Some part of you must have known something would happen because you'd held him so tightly, he'd squealed in protest, laughing at your concern and peppering your face in kisses.

Rick Grimes was yours, damn it. And you'd bring his ass home or die trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think our boys were going to settle into their rocking chairs, did you? As always, I simply MUST know your thoughts, so please share.


	33. The Time Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up at the end of the last chapter. As Daryl searches, Rick and Michonne try to survive.

**Daryl's Perspective**

At 3 am you give up, _sleep ain't happening_ tossing aside the covers and climbing into the shower. As the hot water beats your skin, you find yourself scrubbing too hard, as if the harsh cloth can wash away the misery _the rawness_  of worrying about Rick. Hunting trips have taken you from his side more times than you can count, but he's never been away from you. He's always waiting for you to get home, never the other way around. Always waiting, eyes searing your skin with that heat that's forever been a part of how Rick loves you. And it does feel like he's loved you for all time, as though the life you lived before meeting him now belongs to another man _some other broken soul_. 

He's told you that the years before you entered his life seem wasted, but you don't have that feeling. You know you were born in his arms. That the man you are now sprung full grown directly from his heart.

You brace your hands on the wall and hang your head, letting the water beat the back of your neck and shoulders. Here, in this shower, where you and Rick have bathed and loved, you are utterly alone. You shut off the shower, your gaze stabbing into the bedroom, to the empty bed _where he should be._

You've never slept in y'all's bed without him. Not that you've slept in the past 3 days. Through the steam on the mirror, you see what appears to be a walker and realize it's... you. You look like the walking dead. Eyes swollen and burning, jaw slack, slumped posture. And you want to moan in misery... _Where the hell are you, Rick?_

Downstairs, the light in the kitchen warns you, but you're still surprised to find Judith at the table, furiously scribbling in her journal, Squimer resting by her feet.

At Judy's birth, you'd been so sure she was Shane's child, but as the years have passed and her tiny face has matured, you easily find both Rick and Carl in her features. The determined Grimes' chin, those probing eyes that that can flash blue steel at you, and that grin, that sunlit grin slashing across full, red lips. In her current concentration, she looks like Rick more than ever.

"Hey kicker," you whisper, her head jerks up and she flies to you, arms tight at your waist.

"I'm writing them all down," her words are muffled against your stomach, "every memory of dad. Just in case."

Her words like a punch to your gut, you tighten your arms around her,  "I'm gonna find him, kicker."

She pulls back and shoots you a look of understanding, "Or die trying. That's why I'm writing down all my memories of you too, da da."

"Judy..." you start, but she shakes her head almost violently.

"No, I know you can't live without him. You'd like to say you'd stick around for me, for the gods', but you won't and I'm good with that, da da, I promise you I am. If dad lost you, he would try to stay, too, but he'd be a shell and eventually waste away, too. My dads are a package deal, I've known that all my life. That epic love everyone hopes for but almost no one ever finds."

You've never lied to her and you're not about to start, "How you get so old and wise?"

She grins suddenly, all adorable 8 year old, "Just born this way."

As you fix coffee, she returns to her journal. You contemplate the top of her head, and your love for her is a fierce burn in your chest, "I'd make sure you can hunt first. Survive. I wouldn't leave you without knowing you could, kicker."

Glancing up, one eyelid flicking downward in a devastating wink, "Just have to make sure you get him back then, huh?"

Dawn has yet to break when you step out on the porch. Carl and Beth, arms slung around each others' waists, are walking toward you. Carl grabs you into a brief, hard hug. His eyes tell you a million things, though he remains wordless. Just a nod. Of support and belief.

Beth is more verbose in her concern, soaking the front of your shirt with her tears, and you eventually have to forcibly set her away from you. She's the best friend you've ever had, though, and you lean in to kiss her forehead, whispering of your love, before turning your back to the pair and heading off to the front gate.

Time to find Rick.

 .......

  
**Rick's Perspective**

As you waken, painful cramps shoot down your legs, but you can't straighten because something is holding you down. Your head throbs and you can feel warm wetness dripping onto your face. The darkness around you is so deep that you can't see a thing.

A groan from above you _it's Michonne on top of you_ has you whispering, "You okay?"

"Fuck naw. Feels like someone hit me in the head with a bat."

You reach out your hands, patting around you, "I think we're in a trunk."

"No shit, Sherlock," comes her sarcastic reply and despite the pain, despite your unknown situation, you briefly grin.

Licking your dry lips, the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth,"Michonne? You're bleeding on me. How bad is it?"

"Baseball bat to the head bad. Don't you remember?"

You think hard, "The last thing I remember we were in some small town..."

"Yep, and then those two goons we kicked out, friends of that bitch Angelica, hit us with bats. At least I remember the short one going for a line drive upside your big head. I assume they conked me, too."

"Can you shift at all? I have bad cramps in my legs."

"By all means, let's make you more comfortable," Michonne's sarcasm _her go-to defense mechanism_ lets you know just how scared she is.

"Hey," as you both shift and you stretch your legs as best you can, "we'll get out of this. They didn't outright kill us, so that means they want us alive. We'll live to kill them. After all, we're the dynamic duo."

Her chuckle sounds more like a sob, but her voice is strong, "Fuckers don't know who they're messing with."

"Exactly," you search the trunk, finding a tire iron, but no handy dandy pull to unlock the trunk from the inside, "See if you can find something to use as a weapon."

Slowly the two of you, groaning and cursing, shift until you're side by side.

Michonne coughs, "At least this is a big trunk. They've got my katana, damn it."

"I need to check your wound," you say, maneuvering to reach her head. A golf ball-sized lump above her ear instantly sobers you, and she flinches away as you probe at it, "shit, you need stitches."

"Why don't you whip out your suture kit and get to work then?"

"Hey," you cup her sticky cheek in your palm, "we've got this."

She sniffles and buries her face in your neck, "I miss my girls. So stupid, wanting to prove we still had it. Our asses should be at home with our families, not out searching for some former glory."

"We do still have it and we'll be home soon."

Sniffles again, "You promise?"

"I promise. We'll be back with our families before you know it."

"I bet Daryl's freaking the fuck out," Michonne gives a little giggle, and you send her a glare she can't see, "it's not funny, don't get me wrong, but you're always the one waiting on him to come home."

"Everyone will be worried..."

She interrupts, "But Daryl will be the one to come looking for us."

You try to reassure her, "Henry would come if he was capable, you know that."

Michonne sighs, "Maybe, but Henry and I just play house, Rick. You and Daryl are each other's home."

You both stay quiet for several minutes, and you strain your ears to hear anything beyond the trunk. Gripping the tire iron lightly, you're ready to spring at the first hint of opportunity.

Michonne's voice is soft, "He loves me, I know that, and our girls are his world, but he's gay, and would leave me in a heartbeat if the right man came along. I've always known that, and I'm fine with it. He's given me three precious girls and that's more than I ever expected. If I don't come back from this, he'd be fine. If you don't come back, Daryl will never recover. Soul mates don't get over the loss of the other."

You know she speaks true. You vividly remember walking into bullets at the idea of his death, "We'll make it back. Our kids need us, too."

"Damn right we will."

........

**Daryl's Perspective**

You, Paul, and Adam are on the road by sunrise. The three of you are no longer the only hunting team in the safe zone. Several other groups of much younger men also supply fresh meat. Both Paul and Adam have taken wives who like them home more often than not, though your trio still goes on at least one hunt a week. You appreciate them, these friends of yours, how neither hesitated to leave their lives and help you find Rick and Michonne.

 _Rick_. Your chest squeezes painfully as you stare out the truck's window. It's a gorgeous spring day, and a part of you admires the way the early leaf buds coat the skeletal trees in a promising glaze of green.

By late afternoon, you've arrived at one of the places they most probably stopped. You know the general path taken by Rick and Michonne, but there are no guarantees they'd stayed on it. The varied possibilities of their fate swirl through your mind. Trapped by freshly turned walkers? Doubtful, since the two of them could easily take on a herd. Taken by someone up to no good? Maybe. Wounded and unable to travel? Maybe one, but probably not both of them. Scenarios flash through your mind, each worse than the last. 

Adam grips your thigh hard, quickly releasing you, "We're gonna find them."

The small town appears undisturbed and completely uninhabited. Small trees grow up through the cracked and buckled sidewalks, and more are scattered in cracks down the wide street. In a couple of decades, nature will fully take back this town. For now, though, there's no sign the dynamic duo was ever here. 

After an hour, Paul says, "Let's get back on the road, travel some more miles, check out a couple more places before dark."

Glancing around the town a final time, you nod, and shuffle your feet toward the truck. Just another walking dead. 

......

**Rick's Perspective**

A loud thump jars you from disjointed sleep, "You two still alive in there?"

You repeatedly tense and release every muscle in your body because even as sore and cramped as you are, you need to be prepared. Exhaustion makes it difficult to open your eyes.

A hand bangs relentlessly on the trunk and in the small space, the sound hurts your ears. Beside you, Michonne moans, and you hear laughter from outside, "Yeah, that was the black chick. Doesn't matter 'bout the man. Only need one alive."

"I think you should check," the voice rings in your memory, the man who'd arrived with Angelica, the one you'd thought seemed slow. _Yes, open the trunk, you bastards._

"Naw! That crafty bastard is in there. Can't underestimate a man like that."

"Yeah, you're right, Leroy. He'd probably jump out and snap our necks or some shit like that."

Leroy's bravado rings false to you, "Let that motherfucker just try. I ain't scared of no damn faggot. But giving him a chance is stupid and my momma didn't raise no fool."

They continue to brag back and forth as you reach beside you. Michonne's unconscious frame shakes with chills. You have no idea how long she's been like this. A day, _two maybe_? You've woken her often, but she's delirious with fever, and the last time you'd shaken her for far too long before she'd attacked you, her sharp nails raking skin from your face and neck before she slipped back into unconsciousness.

Your best friend will die if you don't get her out of this filthy, stagnant trunk. Both of you will die soon without water.

"Leroy!" you call out, and the two men go still and silent, your throat is so dry it's hard to force out words, "Michonne has a really bad fever, I can't wake her up, and we desperately need something to drink. You've kept us alive so it doesn't make sense to kill us now. Not like this."

They speak quietly to one another, but you can't make out the words. Your little speech has cost you just about all of your energy, and you're dozing fitfully when the trunk suddenly opens. Fresh air snaps into your lungs, sweet and pure. You want to spring out of the trunk like a ninja and snap some necks, but you barely have the energy to press a forearm over your burning eyes, blinded by sunlight.

"Please," you whisper, barely feeling your lip split at the corner, "we need water."

Several things are thrown at you and the trunk slams back down. Water bottles. It takes a while to unscrew the cap, but finally you do. The water tastes sweeter than the fresh air had smelled and you sip slowly before turning to try to get some into Michonne. She coughs and sputters and you can only pray some of the precious liquid got swallowed.

Of all the ways you could have contemplated death for yourself, wasting away _molding in your own filth_ was never a possibility.

And maybe the most terrifying, one of you will die first, turn, and attack the other.

"Daryl, I love you with all my heart and soul," you whisper out, "Please, please don't find me like that."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's not fair to leave you with a cliffhanger considering how slow I've been on publishing chapters, but I already have a chunk of the next one written. 
> 
> As always, please share your thoughts.


	34. Rick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a tiny chapter, but my girl demanded I post what I had. I'll be back, dear readers, and resolve this.

Over the next hours _who can tell time anymore_ you concentrate on rehydrating yourself and Michonne. In the darkness, you only know that it feels like she swallows on occasion, but her neck and shirt are damp _is it sweat is it the water_ and your whole world has narrowed to staying alive and keeping her breathing.

You're incredibly selfish, a part of you knows this, you want her alive because she's your best friend, almost as much of your other half as Daryl _don't think of Dary_ l but mainly you can't let her turn and kill you. You keep the tire iron by your hip, and wonder if you'll have the strength to bash her brains in if her gurgling, struggling breath ceases. Physically you can, but mentally?

The no nonsense part of you that's survived this world knows you will, but your heart is beating control. All of the times she's stood by your side flash through your mind and you soak in the memories.

Back to back, walker blood spilling, her dreads slapping your back as she spins and chops. Her dark brown eyes laughing at your romantic side, glaring at your stupidity, or accepting your need to talk, her head cocked, always really to give you a reality check or listen in understanding. Your very best friend.

If you die, too? Daryl. _You can't think about him._ Heart pounding in your ears, you send your thoughts away...

Your kids. Carl _so proud of him_ , a strong warrior of a man, he'll be a damn good father, and Judith, beloved by dozens of your safe zone family. They'll be okay. They miss you, of course, but they'll live on, long lives of love and laughter. These thoughts center you...

And finally Daryl. The love of your life. The man who knows you inside and out and loves you anyway. Do you even possess a singular soul anymore, or are the two of you intertwined so tightly that you've fused? Will he survive your loss? Though he cares for others, you're the only person he allows inside. Would he keep going for Judith? For the gods? Of all the gods, he's closest to Hershel, but will those connections be enough?

Though you feel much stronger when the trunk opens this time, you make no move as a bag is tossed at you.

Leroy, "Whew! You two stink!" he coughs, hopefully about to choke to death from the stench, "Doc says those meds will kill infection and bring down fever. Try to stay alive, will you? We really only need one of you, but I got to thinking if one of you's die, that wouldn't be good, no?"

You ignore him, focused on drawing in deep lungfuls of fresh air and squeezing your eyes against the light.

"I'll be back in the morning for our little trip to the safe zone. Don't worry, we aren't interested in your little town, just Angelica."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to follow ASAP! Every review makes me write more, so give them to me! Whenever I get an email with a comment, I'm inspired to write like crazy! You do your job and I'll do mine, dear reader. I love you all. 
> 
> Sincerely,  
> (just another *needy* author)


	35. The Wisdom of 8 Year Olds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescues and the aftermaths of guilt

**Daryl's Perspective**

Seeing the gates of the safe zone makes the knot in your stomach churn with hope. Were they already back? During the long return trip, you'd refused to allow yourself to wallow in misery and focused on daydreams of Rick striding toward you, alive and whole, demanding to know what took you so long as you sink into his arms. In those fantasies, Rick and Michonne beat you home by days.

One look at perimeter guard's expression destroys your hopes.

"I'm going back out as soon as you two get out of the truck and I refuel," you softly tell Adam and Paul and both just nod.

"I'll get you some provisions together and bring them right back," Paul assures you as he hurries away

"I'm going to get your family so they at least get to see you before you go," Adam says as he too rushes off and you want to thank him for the thought, _but Rick's not here_ you can only plan to give each of your loved ones a hug, but then you'll be gone. 

 _Rick_. Your heart has ached for so long that you should be numb, more able to deal, but you're not dealing.

 _Half of you is fucking missing_.

Judith appears over the wall, and you hurry to catch her, squeezing her slight frame tightly, "Oh da da, youre going to find him, I believe in you."

Carl, a pregnant Joanna, and several of the gods surround you as you release Judith and accept their hugs, but as you meet Henry's eyes over Hershel's shoulder, you're not surprised to see Henry's aged. Lines of worry and misery are dug into his brow.

"I want to go with you."

It's a nice thought, but you know he'll only slow you down, distract you, and you'll have to worry about protecting him instead of focusing on the search. The "hell no" on your lips pauses as you think about how Rick would handle this.

"Your girls need you here, Henry. You stay and help them deal with this and I'll find them," you finally say, and as he sadly nods, you know you struck the right note.

He grabs your arm, "When you find her, tell her I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving to her that she's the only one I want."

You nod, but he's not finished, "Tell her I don't ever want to be with anyone but her. She.." a sob chokes from him, "she always thinks she's second best to some future mystery man, but she's not. She's always been my first."

Despite your dislike of all these hugs, you wrap your arms around the man, "I'll tell her."

Provisions packed and truck refueled, you kiss Judith's cheek and head back out. Your husband and Michonne need you.

...

**Rick's Perspective**

You dribble the last of the water between Michonne's cracked lips, "Come on, 'Chonne, swallow."

Heat pours from her skin and you know her fever is dangerously high again. Right after you'd given her the medicine, she'd cooled down and started breathing more easily, but in the long hours afterwards, the fever returned. Where the hell were those idiots who'd trapped you in this hellhole?

Sleeping passes the time, and Daryl dominates your dreams. It's hard to leave him, leave your memories and your heart, and stay awake to monitor Michonne. The tire iron lays in judgement beside your cramped thigh, and suddenly you decide to demand attention.

The ringing of metal on metal hurts your ears, but you bang the tire iron against the top of the trunk, over and over. Your throat is too dry to yell like you want to, but grunts accompany your efforts.

Time passes and you become aware of other sounds and stop your banging. The ringing in your ears slowly fades and the moans of walkers fill the trunk.

 _Great. Just fucking great_.

"Dammit Leroy! There's too many!"

"Just clear as many as you can and get the car started!"

Gunshots. More moans and growling. A short, gurgled scream, and then a "Fuck this bullshit."

The moans of the walkers are fading, so you start banging. Sounds like your abductors have abandoned you, but maybe someone will notice the walkers. And maybe pigs will fly, too, after Batman notices your signal and swoops in to save you. _Damn it, it's all you have._

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

You're taking a piss and planning to stretch your legs when gunshots cause you to duck beside the truck. Slowly you lift your head and look back toward the small town you just passed through. Other than some walkers surrounding an old car, the place had been another ghost town, but now those gunshots offer a different story.

Slowly you drive back, passing the cluster of walkers and a curious banging sound. Several of the walkers are draped over a man's form, chowing down. A fresh kill? You heart stops, but you pass the car slowly. The walkers don't even turn in your direction, and most still surround the car.

Both of your guns go in your holsters and you grab two knives and leave your crossbow on the truck seat. The banging sound continues and it's easy to drop the walkers one by one. You examine the man on the ground, and let out a relieved breath. Not Rick. The banging continues from the trunk of the car. Back at your truck, you grab a crowbar, and then spend five exhausting minutes attempting to pop open the car's trunk.

The banging stops.

....

  
The stench strikes you as hard as the wave of relief at meeting the fierce blue light of his squinted eyes. Gagging, your mouth drops open to gasp breaths, and even though you can't smell anymore, you can somehow taste it, the muck coating your husband's skin.

Reaching into the trunk, you tug out a cringing Rick, his forearm flung protectively in front of his eyes, his body sagging against you.

"Baby? You okay?" your hands cup his cheeks, and then stroke tightly down his body, "answer me, damn it. Rick?"

His voice is a harsh whisper, "Michonne. Help Mchonne."

Reluctantly, you place him carefully on the grass between two of the dead, and then you turn back to Michonne's comatose form curled in the bottom of the trunk. She appears almost skeletal, and guilt assails your senses.

"Did she get bit?"

Rick coughs, and then rasps, "Head wound. Infection and fever. Get her help now, Daryl. She's gonna die."

A plan. You swing into action, lifting Michonne and carrying her to your truck, before heading back to help Rick. In the truck, Rick takes Michonne and holds her against him as he sips from a bottle of water  

"Hey," your heart's in your throat, "we'll get her home and she'll be fine. I promise."

"I know she will," he rasps, "How fast can we get home?"

As his head clunks against the window, you know he's joined Michonne and passed out  

Speeding wherever the road is clear, the trip back is quick, and the perimeter guard eye you happily until you slam to a stop, dust flying around. Several hop over the wall to help you carry Rick and Michonne.

At Doc Morrison's, both are stripped, hooked up to IVs, and wounds are cleaned. The doc stops trying to get you to leave his surgery area, but everyone else waits outside. Neither Rick nor Michonne have gained consciousness, but the doc seems optimistic.  

"They are both dehydrated and haven't eaten in days. I'm giving them antibiotics and fluids. They need to rest, and while they do, we need to give them a sponge bath. 

Doc works on Michonne while you reverently clean your husband's body. Over and over, you dump filthy water from your bucket and start again. Finally, his skin glows clean so you apply salve to the cracked skin of his lips.

Four hours later, Rick and Michonne both open their eyes.

...

**Rick's Perspective**

On your first morning home, you'd awakened to Judith's wise 8-year old blue gaze. Her resemblance to Carl at that age had flustered you briefly, but her words ripped your heart away, "Daddy, you being home means I have both of you. You and da da, both, for always." Was it healthy to be part of the source that could cause her to lose two dads at once? During that next day, all of your visitors, everyone you love, expresses Judith's thought. _Daryl can't live without you_.

Daryl Daryl Daryl ...

 _Both of my dads, package deal, can't have one without the other._ The guilt, being not just responsible for everyone's misery if something happens to you, but their double misery of losing you both?

_Would you rather have Daryl alive and well or pining after you?_

You sink into a miserable state and when he reaches to hug you, you push him away, Judith's words constantly repeating in your mind. A part of you is still trapped in that trunk and everything around you seems surreal ...everything is still out of your control. Except for Daryl and this seemingly diseased epic love that can only cause your loved ones pain. That you can do something about.  

**Daryl's Perspective**

You give him space. The first few nights when he curls away from you, shrugging off your touch, you decide he just needs time. He'll come back to you, your Rick, eyes full of love and shining passion. If there's one thing you've never doubted since tying your life to Rick's, the man can't resist you.

But he does, he turns you away day after day, your every touch is shoved away, and when you lean in to kiss his lips, you meet the dismissal of his cheek.

It's ripping you apart. It's like a part of your soul died in that trunk and you pull away from him in retaliation.

The first time you wake up to an empty bed and find him asleep on the couch, you swallow the sobs in your throat until you're deep in the green of the woods.

The next night, you don't come home until he's already asleep, nestled into the couch cushions.   _  
_

Jake's Tavern rarely sees you, and never without Rick, so the men's reactions, the peering over your shoulder, asking about Rick... it's all to be expected and miserably reminds you of how glorious it feels to be part of a couple, a unit so tightly-forged that others stumble at seeing one of you without the other. You sit as far away from them as possible and gulp down the beer Jake hands you. Promptly pouring you a second, Jake's wise old eyes seem to peer deep into you.

"There's men," he says slowly, "and then there's men you'd die for. You fell in love with one of those. Makes sense there'd be bumps. Want'a shot? I'll make a new one in your honor. We'll call it Daryl's Patience. Don't a soul in the safe zone that don't know that shit is short."

Bleary-eyed, you stare up at Jake through your hair, "I'll take three."

Jake laughs heartedly, both his big belly and big beard shaking, "I'm going to take care of you, old friend."

It strikes you suddenly that you're far from alone, even without Rick beside you. A huge cast of characters surrounds you. You've known Jake for 7 years now, and even if you don't frequent his tavern, you know him well, and there's something comforting about the thought.  

.....  
Several shots and four beers later, you are standing on your porch, glaring at the closed front door.

 _Fuck this_. You stride into the house, both fueled by alcohol and rightness. He's on the couch, pretending you can't see the tension in his body, pretending to be asleep.

You grab the blanket covering him and rip it away, "I'm going to our retirement home and I'm too drunk to drive, so your stupid ass needs to wake up and drive me."

His stunned expression is priceless, so you stab mean fingers into his sides, straight into his ticklish zones. You know his body better than your own, and despite his dour expression, even he can't stop the involuntary giggles. 

"Stop! Damn you!" he gasps out, so you release him and head toward the keys, "you're drunk! We aren't going anywhere. Just go to bed, Daryl."

"Nope!" you shout back.

"What's going on down here?" Judith asks from the top of the stairs. 

You spin toward her and get dizzy, swaying drunkenly on your feet, "I've been drinking and your dad won't drive me to our retirement home. He's gonna let me drive drunk."

You know this is a new low, guilting Rick in front of Judith, but alcohol justifies your action, "Can you believe he cares so little about me?"

Judith's head does the Rick tilt, her expression clearly saying, "Seriously, da dad?"

Rick's beside you, "Daryl, come on, just go to bed. I promise I'll talk to you in the morning."

He tries to take the keys from you, but you shove him away, "You make a lot of promises, Rick Grimes. One is to keep me safe," you stagger to the front door, "I'm leaving in two minutes. With or without you."

....

**Rick's Perspective**

Judith joins you by the front door, "What are you waiting on, daddy?"

You shove a hand through your hair, "He's drunk. He's not thinking straight."

"Then go make sure he does," Judith replies calmly. With her chin up and hands resting on her hips, she reminds you briefly of her mother, "You married him and promised you'd always be there for him," she nods toward the door, "So go figure out what's got you treating him so weird. I'm tired of the both of you this past week. I could use a break from all of this drama, to be honest."

She opens the front door, "I'm going to Beth's. Don't you two come back until you've worked this out."

"Yes, ma'am," you say to her back and watch as she heads down the street toward Beth and Nathan's. Now to go take care of your stubborn husband. 

He's gunning the truck as you climb over the wall, but he sees you and moves to the passenger side.

You don't say a word as you slam the door shut and head into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! At least they are out of that trunk!
> 
> Ps. To clear up any confusion: Rick and Daryl refer to their 6 godchildren as the gods.


	36. Come Here, Stay Here With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl has to deal, Rick slips away.

**Rick's Perspective**

Your eyes dart from the road to glimpse Daryl's sullen expression. Really not wanting to do this now, in the middle of the night _or ever_ , you decide to ignore him. Your skin itches, imaginary you know, but still an eternal itch, the muck of that trunk never washing away despite the multiple showers you take daily. You circle your head, stretching forever-cramped muscles, and Michonne's dead weight crushes the air from your chest as you struggle to breathe. _Daryl will die without you, daddy._

"You not going to talk to me?" Daryl snarls from next to you, and you take a hand from the wheel to scrub it through your hair.

"Not now. Not while you're drunk."

Silence. With the windows down, the roar of nature at night fills the air around you. Concentrating on watching the road, you barely hear his next question, "You finally done with me?"

You know you should feel something. That the hurt and pain he's feeling should impact you in some way i _t should break your heart_ so you squeeze your eyes tight and try to feel it. To feel anything.

"Hey!" he yells, "watch the road!"

You do, swallow hard, and drive. _This isn't real. He's not here. You're not here. You're dreaming again._

"Rick!"

Damn, why do you have to watch the road in your dreams? He yells something again, so you force yourself to keep your eyes open, to drive.

At the farm gate, he hops out and swings it open. You briefly toy with the idea of driving through, right past him, but you stop and he climbs in beside you. His scent washes over your senses, he smells real, but he's not, nothing is anymore.

At the house, you put the truck in park as Daryl grabs a flashlight from the glovebox, "Go on in, Rick. Checking the fences, but when I come in, if your ass ain't in our bed, I'm dragging you there."

You watch him until all you can see is the swing of his light, and then he's gone. Was he ever even here?

He was, wasn't he? Shouldn't you care that he's gone off into the dark by himself? Maybe you should turn the truck around and go back to the safe zone. Just leave him here.

A hard thump on the truck's hood startles you, "Damn, Rick, you just been sitting here this whole time?"

You blink and his arms are sliding around you, and though he grunts heavily with each step, he carries you into the house. He feels right, but this, this love you see in his eyes, it's wrong.

Everything is wrong.

.......

**Daryl's Perspective**

You've known Rick's not right for days now, but with the way he's been avoiding the hell out of you, you haven't really been able to see it. Not like this. Judy and Beth had told you of the hours he spends staring into space, of how he doesn't ever speak unless forced to, how he's not himself, not right...

Between the drive in the cool night air and the perimeter walk, you've sobered completely, and it's shocking to find him still sitting in the truck, staring straight ahead. Rick, whose always been able to monitor everyone around him, is totally unaware of your presence.

You bang your fist on the hood and yell at him, and his bleary gaze swings in your direction, but he's not seeing you.

As you open his door and drag him into your arms too _damn old for this shit_ he doesn't speak, though he does lay his head on your shoulder.

By the time you reach y'all's bed, your back is killing you, but you don't lay him down. You sit, still holding him, rocking him really, god, you've missed the feel of him against you. His head is now curled into your neck and you whisper into his hair, "Please tell me you ain't done with me. Please tell me you love me."

Silence. Pain fills your eyes and slides in wet paths down your cheeks and into his hair. Your heart consumes your chest cavity _a molten burn_ and it hurts, his silence hurts so damn bad. You want to shake him, tug him to his feet and knock the shit out of him. You want to scream into his face, maybe even choke him, wrap your fingers around his throat until he wakes the fuck up and looks at you. _Until he sees you again._

Instead, the ache in your lower back eventually makes you release him and push him flat. You stand, joints popping like a symphony, and stare down at him, while he stares at the ceiling.

Exhaustion joins your pain, so you slowly strip. Naked, you reach for him, and he slumps like a rag doll as you remove his clothes. Pulling the sheet over you, you cry yourself to sleep as he curls as far away as possible.

...

You wake before dawn, head pounding and thirsty, so damn thirsty, and alone. _Where is that damn man_?

In the kitchen, you drink several glasses of water before you start to feel more human. A quick trip through the house finds Rick on the couch, wrapped in a blanket staring into the cold fireplace.

Unsure, you stand watching him for a moment, the salt and pepper curls of his hair, that profile that's as gorgeous to you now as it was the first day you laid eyes on him.

His shiver makes a fire seem like a good idea so you build one and then sit in front of the flames until your stomach growls.

Judy and Beth told you he hasn't been eating enough to keep a bird alive, so you head to the kitchen, where you mainly have dried goods to choose from. Oatmeal it is. Tossing in a hefty amount of honey and dried fruit _the way he likes it_ you take the bowl back to him.

He takes it, holding it in his hands, and after a minute you grab the spoon and place a huge bite against his lips, "Eat, damn you."

His mouth opens and you shove the oatmeal in and watch him chew slowly, before swallowing. His voice is weak, "Not hungry."

"Don't give a shit," you shove another bite in his mouth. It takes a while, but eventually the bowl is empty and you feel like you've accomplished something.

As he continues to stare into the flames, your admittedly short patience fails, "Talk to me, Rick. Tell me what's wrong so I can fix it."

He mumbles something.

"What? I can't hear you. Look at me. Please look at me..." you choke on a sob, but all you can feel now is the anger, and now it's in your voice, "I said look at me!"

You reach for his chin, but his head jerks away. In all the years you've spent with him, no matter how angry he was, your touch is something he's always responded to.That's what's so different, that he doesn't want your touch. You grab his hands and cup his palms to your cheeks, "Rick, I need you."

Though he's staring blankly over your shoulder, his thumb caresses the dampness of your cheek, and for a moment, relief flows through you, and you whisper, "Rick?"

He's mumbling again and it takes you a minute to understand what he's repeating over and over, "You're not here. I'm not here. Here's not here."

He sounds... you hesitate to even think it, crazy, crazy as a June Bug, and for the first time, you step outside of your pain and really look at him. The blank stare, the mumblings, the lethargy. And you realize this isn't about you. This has never been about you.

Briefly, it's a freeing thought, until you figure out that it changes nothing.

You tug him into your lap and hold him against your chest protectively, "We'll figure this out, Rick. I promise you we will."

....

For the next few days, you take care of him. He's almost comatose, but he'll walk where led, eat when told to, and sleep for small periods of time. You hold him to you whenever possible, though he no longer seems aware of you. In the tub, you wash him slowly, and though it makes you miserable to run your fingers over his unresponsive body, you keep him as clean as you can. _For better or worse_. You may not have said the words at your wedding, but you know your job as his husband.

You rack your brain on how to "wake" him up. Leading him down to the dock, you try to get him to fish. Take him on long walks around the property. A few times he seems to come back, meeting your eyes for a second, smiling as you catch a fish and it flops next to him on the dock. But those moments are fleeting.

On the fifth day, you know you can't do this alone anymore. He needs more help than you can give him.

Thinking back over your life and how you dealt with traumatic events, you wonder if he's gone to some "safe place" of his own. You remember being a boy, beaten and abused, the harsh judgmental stares of others, being raped in that filthy alley, the mental hospital, that time with Potts...

Suddenly an idea pops in your head. _Fuck it, it's worth a try._

This next morning you load him into the truck and head out, further away from the safe zone _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's got an idea... be patient, I'm already working on it. And thanks, as always, for reading and subscribing.


	37. That Shit's Mine

**Rick's Perspective**

Life can be mean, you've always known this. Horrible things happen all of the time. Loved ones lost, man's inhumanity to man, nature's destructive fury... there's lots of cruelty to go around.

But this? Is this purgatory? Or hell?

 _Nothing is real_. When you'd dreamed Daryl rescued you and Michonne from this trunk, it had seemed real, and Judy's tight welcome home hugs, those had seemed real, too... _Da da can't live without you_...

But that wasn't real. This isn't real either. Riding beside Daryl down deserted highways... _Michonne is so heavy, is she still breathing?_

You reach for the tire iron, but there's only the arm rest in this latest fantasy. How will you put her down if you can't stay in reality? _How will you live so Daryl doesn't die_?

Metal weight settles like trust in your hand. The tire iron, thank god. Or thank the devil of this hell. You hold it tightly, wondering for the thousandth time if you can really kill her.

The stench overpowers your senses and Daryl's saying something, but you have to stay here, breathing this air. This is where Michonne needs you... you have to do this... Daryl can find your starved corpse if that's the way life wants to play this, but you'll never let him find you as a walker. Never.

Michonne's breath gurgles in your ear, but she's still alive. You're still alive. And you have to stay focused here, your mind here. Daryl's voice echoes in this lost space. _You don't belong here, Daryl. Go away. Go live, live for Judith and Carl, for our future grandbaby, for the gods and everyone else we love_.

The slap to your cheek is harsh and Daryl's screaming at you. Wake up? Wake up! Wake up!

But you're dribbling the last of the water into Michonne's mouth, massaging her throat, hoping some is getting swallowed, and you don't have time for these fantasies of Daryl. Is she still breathing? The heat of her body feels like its burning you alive, and you know she's going to die _and then you'll have to kill her again_. Your best friend, you'll have to... she's burning...

Not here... Daryl's yelling about walkers, about geeks, but he sounds far away, and he sounds desperate, screaming your name, and you can't fight the fantasy anymore, not when Daryl sounds like that. 

"What do you need?" you manage to say, and a rush of chilly walker-scented air flows over you. _The truck_. Dead fingers pawing at your jacket through the partially open window, moans, excited moans, and Daryl, "Help! Rick!"

....

**Daryl's Perspective**

As far as bad ideas go, as Glenn once said, this one would take the gold. Leaving Rick in the truck, you'd jumped in the middle of a couple of dozen walkers, so sure if he thought you were in danger, it would wake him. _Stupid as shit_ , especially now as more and more join the fray. Where are they all coming from?

"Help! Rick!" you scream, and though this was part of your plan, you never contemplated you might actually _need_ his help.

Damn, it's like you'd chosen to take on the edge of a herd! In singles, and even by the dozen, these ancient, slow-movers weren't ever a problem, but the sheer numbers... Kick, stab, shove, stab, over and over until you're slipping in their gore and walkers are crawling over the ones stacked dead around you.

"Rick! Help!" but now it's useless, you know he's not listening. He's probably not even aware of the walkers surrounding the truck. You're on auto-pilot now, leaning down to stab the skull of those scrabbling toward you and death is piling higher and higher. Soon you'll be trapped beneath them. More are heading over the heap toward you, not here yet though, so you take a second to look away, to look back toward the truck toward Rick for maybe the last time. You have to see him. Your husband, your love...

Oh god! Rick! There he is! Rage and blood cover his face, but the machete you'd left in his lap is a beautiful sight and he reigns death all around him. You stab at a few more crawlers who've gotten too close as he grows closer to you and stands at the edge of your walker pile, starting one of his own.

"Climb over them and get at my back," he yells toward you, but you're already started heading his way, _so fucking alive and here, here with you! Rick!_

Hard blue eyes meet yours briefly as you shove and stab your way to his back, _and it's him_ , not that nearly-comatose shell you've spent the last week trying to wake up, but your Rick. And then you're at his back and fighting, right where you were always meant to be.

Over the next hour, you and Rick pile walkers and then stumble over the heaps to create a new pile, all the while working your way back towards the truck. At some point the walkers stop coming _finally_ and as the last moan ends, you turn to face him.

And forget to breathe. Those blue eyes blazing with life, the confident stance, and regardless of the blood and gore coating you both, you throw your arms around his waist and smile at him.

"Rick," you sigh, _and yes oh yes,_ his arms wrap around your shoulders, and you are home. He's finally home. You hold one another until the distant moan of walkers penetrates your awareness. Rick tugs away and stares into the distance, and you see that blank look returning. You grab him roughly, and press your forehead to his forehead and demand harshly, "Stay with me. Here. Stay right here. With me."

He nods and holds your eyes _your Rick_ and he's in there, you can see him, "Come on, let's get the hell outta here."  
...........  
The ride home is silent. After stripping out his coat, Rick slumped against the passenger door and promptly fell asleep.

You're a bit scared to wake him once you reach the safe zone. What if those lucid moments of walker killing was all you got? What if he doesn't see you anymore?

He squints blue at your shake of his shoulder, "We're home. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

"Might want to worry about yourself. You stink to high heaven," he yawns hugely, and your smile hurts your face.

"I love you so much, Rick."

His eyes glow at you warmly, then that distant look is back. You shake him hard, "No, damn it all, Rick, you stay here with me. You hear me? I mean it, Rick."

"Michonne's not good, can't stay here."

 _What the fuck? Is he still trapped in that trunk_?

You jerk him from the truck, "Come on. We're going to see Michonne and you'll see she's fine."

He's not looking at you, simply tucks his chin against his chest and allows you to tug him over the wall and down the street.

At Michonne's, she and Rick fall into each other's arms and end up hugging and rolling around the floor. You and Henry watch them, neither of you truly able to truly comprehend their joy, but you aren't interested in interrupting their moment, either.

After Doc Morrison had released Rick, he'd shown no interest in visiting Michonne. You'd tried to press the issue a couple of times, especially since it had taken Michonne longer to recover, but his cold shoulder had kept pissing you off and you'd relented.

You could cut yourself for not realizing he _needed_ to see her sooner.

"Not your fault," Rick says, meeting your eyes from his head-snuggled position on Michonne's chest. She's flat on her back, Rick's sprawled by her side, glued down her body, and both of her arms and hands are wrapped around Rick's head, hugging him to her bosom while one of his hands rests flat on her stomach.

It's _hard_ for you to walk away, to follow Henry's motioning towards the kitchen, but you do. You glance back a final time to see their faces inches apart, whispering desperately to one another. You've missed him so much that a part of you resents sharing this moment with her.

Henry grabs your arm and tugs you into the kitchen, "This is the most emotion I've seen out of her in days. Give it to them, Daryl."

Still a little pissed, you nod, and sit at their family's long mahogany table and watch Henry fix coffee. You're glad if Michonne can help bring him back, but you've been doing all the work. Is it selfish to expect the reap the rewards?

.....

Though "he's back", he's not. He knows you now, returns your hugs, hardens at your touch, but it's so low key. Sex is now a sweeter flow of love, and you curl into his arms and his slow pace, _and you love it_ , but you also miss the passion, his eyes hot on your skin.

You tell yourself it's age or it's familiarity, the lack of passion, the loss of the heat. Shit, the two of you probably had longer than most couples.

And it's true, you just have learn to deal with it. But... a part of you is convinced the lack of passion is due to his mental state. The way you find his blank gaze after you've purposely flexed your arms in front of him. The way his smile is sweet, but distracted, _and definitely not hot_ , as you walk toward him.

A piece of your husband is still in that godforsaken trunk. And that piece is yours. _And you're getting that shit back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This plot beast has been finally been laid to rest... well, not really, since Daryl's about to shift into seduction mode.


	38. We Get By With a Little Help From Our Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long winter and spring... and a very OOC Negan.

**Daryl's Perspective**

You spend a lot of time watching your husband. Watching him walk and work, listening to him talk to others, examining his features as he sleeps. He's as strong as ever, and still tackles tasks, and whatever spark is missing from him when he looks at you still seems to be there _sort of_ for Judith, at least. And if he seems to spend most of his time in his head...

Truly, you should be happy. He's home with you, sleeps with you every night, and always responds when you reach for him. But, it's not the same.

_He never reaches for you._

It's miserable, this idea that you've lost him. It eats at you as day after day passes.

Finally, you decide to do an experiment. You don't touch him sexually for 4 days in a row and he doesn't even seem to notice. Then you stop hugging him or giving him any of the thousands of casual loving touches that have always been a part of your relationship. You begin sleeping on the other side of the bed, and last night, you'd slept in the spare bedroom.

You'd come to bed and he'd almost been asleep. He wore a t-shirt and pajama bottoms for maybe the first time in years, and the sight had both crushed you and angered you. You'd gone into the bathroom, brushed your teeth, and then stood over him, glaring.

Finally, he'd looked up at you, resignation in his voice, "What is it, Daryl?"

You'd watched him carefully, "Gonna go sleep in the spare room."

No reaction other than a nod. He'd closed his eyes and shifted his head on his pillow, "Okay. Night."

Of course you hadn't slept, just stared at the ceiling for hours. Well before dawn, you are on the front porch with your coffee, staring out into the dark, when Judy surprises you, "What're you doing up, da da?"

You could swear she's grown a couple of inches over night. The idea makes you long for her to be a baby again, so you put down your coffee and hold open your arms. She settles in your lap and rests her head against your chest, your sweet girl.

"Your plan isn't working," she sighs.

"What plan is that, kicker?" She barely fits in your lap and her long legs drape down the length of yours.

"The cold shoulder thing. That's not what he needs," and of course she's noticed, she's the smartest person in the house. You just grunt, unsure what to say.

"Unless you don't care that you're losing him. Unless you don't love him anymore?"

You push her up until you can see her face, "I was just trying to get some sort of response from him. Of course I love him."

"Well, this is not the way. Sleeping in the spare room. Really, da da?"

You hug her back to you, "What should I do?"

"Hold him tighter than ever and fight for him. When he was missing, everyone knew you'd die without him. And everyone told him that. I could see how much it bothered him."

You sit quietly for a few moments, "So, you think what? That he's pulling away so I won't love him so much?"

"Yeah, he's trying to protect you."

"That doesn't make any damn sense, kicker."

She sighs, "I didn't say it did. I'm just telling you what I think."

Is that what he's doing? Though you've learned to talk to Rick over the years, share your feelings and such, he's always led in that area of your marriage. Demanding you talk, riding you until you'd finally shared what was on your mind.

"He's also still in that trunk. I hear him mumble stuff all the time," she adds, hugging you tightly. And you know she's right  

You stay home and when he gets up, curls all adorably tousled, you hug him tightly, "Do you still love me?"

"Of course I do, Daryl," but when his eyes meet yours, the blue is a bit dull, no spark, and you don't know the words to ask him. You don't know how to begin.

You try your tricks again, simple things he's always loved, your arms, drawing out the syllables of his name, watching him with your heart in your eyes. Sometimes you see a flash of something... but it's like a shutter slams down and he gives you a slight smile before he's gone, away in his head.

You and Judy arrange for her to spend the night at different family members houses and you try to drag him from the safe zone. To grab some alone time. But he refuses to go, and you yell at him.

"Dammit Rick, we need some time together!" you grab his shoulders and shake him, but he just looks back at you, almost uninterested.

After a minute of staring at him in frustration, words you don't mean explode from mouth, "You want me to leave? You want a divorce or something?"

"Whatever you think is best," he says, but for once his eyes shine at you and then his voice breaks, "if that's what you want."

It's so stunning, how deeply he hurts you, and you grab him and hold him tightly to you, "Never."

"Never," he whispers back. That night you drive your passion into him and his response is so wild and perfect that you think you've finally won him back.

This morning, though, you awake alone in your bed, and find him on the couch, sound asleep. _Fuck this_. You grab your crossbow and head for the woods.

.....

A new group has moved into the safe zone. You've been a bit distracted, but had met the new arrivals and their leader just last week. Their leader, a big tree trunk of a man named Negan, seemed to be seeking out your company more and more often.

You'd never really met a person like him, someone whose charisma attracted others like flies. People hung on the man's every word, and he seemed to be making a strong impression in the safe zone. His name was in conversations wherever you went, not that you talked much to others, but you couldn't help but overhear. The safe zone, even with the expansions over the years, was still a small town.

This morning, he appeared beside you holding his own bow and beaming down at you. Curiosity had you examining his bow, so he slung it off his shoulder and handed it to you for inspection.

"Nice," you say, handing it back, "more range than mine."

Negan laughs, brown eyes dancing, "I don't use it often enough. Just like to take it out for a little refresher practice now and again."

You grunt and turn to leave when he adds, "Stand some company out there? These walls are making me a little stir crazy."

The last thing you want is company, but you jerk your head in a nod, "Suit yourself."

That first day, Negan doesn't talk much, and by the time the two of you make it back to the safe zone, you realize a part of you even enjoyed the company.

As the days pass, Negan comes around more and more. You even invite him to supper. The whole family _except for Rick_ laugh uproariously at Negan's stories, and he's fun. Judy hangs on his every word and you see the girlish crush developing.

Rick, well Rick's nice enough to the man, but _Rick's not Rick_ , and you catch Negan contemplating your husband, his dark brown eyes curious.

And you know why. You can see it in the other man's eyes when he looks at you, when he works so hard to make you laugh, when he finds you a handful of blackberries after you'd mournfully told him they were gone for the season. He likes you. It's a bit weird to hang out with him knowing how he feels, but he seems to respect that you just want friendship. He only seems to want to spend time with you. And Rick doesn't seem to notice or even care about the attention Negan gives you.

Hanging out with Negan is strange. His eyes continuously seem to twinkle with laughter. You find yourself chuckling more than you can ever remembering doing so. His interest somehow works as a balm to your feelings. You didn't want the man, not like that, but being with Negan makes the pain of being without Rick a little easier.

You begin spending most of your days with Negan. He loves the woods as much as you, and he moves his hulking frame so silently, unlike Rick had ever been able to learn.

Rick, well Rick is as distant as ever. With Negan's attention always on you, you don't feel the need to spend so much time trying to get Rick's attention. Your heart is still broken, and if he so much as crooked his finger at you, you would jump at the opportunity to have him back. But he doesn't.

.....

One day in the woods after an incredible hunt _the big man moves like a ghost_ , Negan had wiggled his brows and said something that had tickled you so hard, you fell into almost boyish giggles, unable to stop snorting _stomach cramping_ and he'd fallen beside you, holding his own stomach. One look at each other had you rolling again and the laughter felt so good, and you'd needed it so bad _almost desperately_ , that a shock of sadness had instantly flipped your mood.

Rick used to make you laugh like this.

Negan saw it, and that broad handsome face was suddenly way too close to yours, "Hey," he said, and then his face was gone and you were wrapped in his enormous embrace. And it felt so good, so comforting _that you wanted to die_ missed Rick so much. You'd hugged Negan back, borrowing deeper into the comfort of those strong arms... not Rick though. Never be Rick.

You'd shoved at his shoulders and he'd instantly pulled back and jumped to his feet. Thank god. You did the same, not even looking in his direction.

You'd loved the feel of his warm strength against you _he did feel good_ but his arms weren't the arms you wanted.

Silently, you two shouldered the deer and began the long walk home. You were grateful for his quiet, but you'd grown to care about the man and didn't want to send any mixed signals.

"I love Rick. I'll only ever love Rick. He's not himself, and even if he never is again, he's it for me." Damn, it felt good to put that in words. Something righted in your world and you felt yourself seem to grow taller.

"I know," Negan's deep voice sounded behind you, "I'm not asking for anything but your friendship."

"You got that," you responded quick, and a little breathless. Negan's reassurances were perfect and calmed you. He'd become so important to you that losing his friendship _especially as Rick disappeared_ was a bit terrifying. This friendship. It had become one of the constants in your life.

........

**Rick's Perspective**

You look closely at Negan one night. He's a big, good-looking guy. His rough features combine into sheer handsomeness, flashing eyes and strong, square jaw. He's all man, strong and tall, broad and imposing. But he's not imposing at your table, instead he's charming, and Judith is squirming in her chair and batting her eyelashes. _Is she flirting_?

Then the thought is gone and putrid air fills your lungs. You miss whatever is said as Negan makes everyone laugh heartedly while you school your features blank and fight to stay in reality. The smell isn't real.

Gorgeous dark brown eyes twinkle at you, all sharp cheekbones and broad square jaw, "Rick, did you know Daryl's scared of caterpillars?"

Daryl laughs, but sends you a searching look. It draws you back to the table _no trunk here_ and you find yourself replying, even sounding interested.

"No, I didn't."

As Negan launches into some story, you only hear Daryl's laughing, but stern interjection, "One bit me once and the bite hurt for weeks!"

He sounds so happy. So animated and you examine his features, those puffy blues eyes, shining at Negan, that smirking smile that tugs up more of the left side of face than the right. _I've lost him. Negan makes him happy like I used to_...

But Daryl would never leave you and for the rest of that dinner, you long for Michonne. To see her so you didn't feel her weight.

Later, when Daryl tugs you from the table, you realize Negan is gone, supper is cleared and cleaned, and Judy's already in bed. When did all of that happen?

In your bedroom, he strips you, and you stand in a fog, "Rick, let me give you a shower. Maybe trim your beard."

Your hand touches your face, stroking downward, and you're astonished at the length. The damn thing is hanging down on your chest. _When did that happen_?

"Come on," he urges you and you follow the tug of his hand as he puts you in the shower. The warmth of the water, the slick flow of his hands stroking the soap over your skin reminds you that bathing daily feels good and god, have you been walking around stinking, not bathing?

"Hey," Daryl's soft voice, those loving blue eyes, "It's okay, Rick. It's all okay.'

It stinks in here and you're suddenly sick to your stomach, the little dinner you'd eaten flinging in your abdomen. Daryl must see it because he ripping back the shower curtain and pressing your head above the toilet.

"It's okay, Rick," he says again and then you taste mouthwash as he makes you rinse. He rubs your belly with one hand while his other makes an warm anchor at your middle back.

 

When you give him a little nod of reassurance, his hands ache their way slowly up and down your spine.

You blink, and suddenly you're warm and in bed, and he has the length of him pressed down you. From shoulders to toes, "You'll always be mine," he whispers and it's easy to lose yourself in his love. Right here. In this moment.  
.......

You know from how often your family tells you, that your thought patterns don't make sense to anyone but yourself. It doesn't matter, though, you're doing the right thing. Not that you'd really discussed it much with anyone. It's not like you've ended your relationship with Daryl _that'll never happen_ but you'd definitely pulled back.

All-consuming love wasn't healthy. Daryl would die without you. But maybe, just maybe, if you could love him at a simmer versus a rolling boil, he'd have a long life. Because you'll be dying soon anyway.

Michonne's the only one who can even possibly understand, and you spend lots of time with your best friend. She doesn't expect you to talk, and best of all, she doesn't question you about Daryl. You know you escaped death's clutches an extraordinary amount of times. You also know that trunk was your last life. And you still spend too much time breathing in the stench. The sight of Michonne is enough to anchor you in this world, with her in front of you, her weight stops pressing you from above.

When the two of you aren't patrolling the safe zone, you're at her house, though you always try to make it home for dinner with your family. You barely notice the new guy at your table, but after he joins you repeatedly, you decide you like this Negan. Dinners can sometimes be awkward affairs, what with Daryl brooding at you and Judith struggling to keep the conversation going. But Negan lights up the house, and you enjoy hearing Daryl and Judy laugh at the man's stories.

Men have flirted with your husband before. Years ago such men sent you into jealous rages, but you'd learned over the years that there was never anything to worry about. Daryl was fully and completely yours.

So now when you notice Negan's eyes gleaming at Daryl, desire easy to see, you don't even blink, you just excuse yourself and leave the table. If Negan seems to come around more than nights than not, you don't think too much about it. Much of your time is spent grounding yourself in reality, for the slightest thing can have you right back in that trunk. _The slightest thing._

Weeks pass and though you notice that Daryl always seems to be with Negan now, and you feel a tiny, disconnected worry, you trust Daryl, who still reaches for you in the night. About the only time you're ever free of that trunk. In his arms. ....

......

It's a cold night. Daryl and Negan have just come through the front door, laughing and pulling off their coats. You're in the dark, sitting in the reading chair by the front window, an unread book in your lap.

You know they don't notice you, and a tiny quip of your heart burns _Daryl has always sensed you_. Negan grasps Daryl's shoulder, "Seriously man, I'm always eating over here. Come over to my house and let me grill you a venison steak. I've had the meat marinating all day. You don't want to miss it."

"Well, it looks like Judy and Rick aren't here. Tell you what, let me leave them a note, and I'll finally take you up on your offer." He scribbles some words on the writing pad on the entry table.

"Sweet," Negan says, pulling Daryl into a hug. You wait for your husband to do his casual pull away that he's learned over the years, but Daryl doesn't, instead his arms twine around Negan's neck. Negan's hands rest on your husband's waist, and he tugs the front of their bodies together. Negan groans, leaning back and smiling down at Daryl, "Let's go to my place."

You see red, rage clogging your senses, and you open your mouth to say something, to scream at the man to get his damn hands off of your husband, but you're frozen.

"Let's," Daryl says huskily, turning back to the front door. Your heart completely breaks open and as the door closes behind the pair, you fall to the floor.

......

 **Daryl's Perspective**  

  
At Negan's you'd sat uncomfortably, and though he'd tried his best to cheer you up, "So we knew he was there.  I know you wouldn't have hugged me like that. Do you think making him jealous is going to work?"

"Don't think nothing's gonna work."

"If you were mine, and I saw you with another, I'd be jealous..." he closes his eyes, like his words are hurting him.

For some reason, it hurts you too, so you lash out, "Damn you. Do you think it's easy for me to know that I might could find some sort of love with you?" 

"You're an asshole," Negan whispers.

Instantly you feel bad, "Sorry. I really am. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't, but you're hurting so I'll let it go," Negan nods, "Rick's suffering from PTSD?"

"That soldier stuff? I guess. He ain't been the same since they was kidnapped," you rest your head on your hand, "he's so different. Like his head and heart are always somewhere else."

"You know that lady that came with my group? Joanie? She used to work in some mental health field. Maybe Rick should talk to her."

Your heart pounds, "Like a shrink? I don't put much stock in shrinks, Negan."

"You don't have to. Rick does. This is all about Rick."

"Can you talk to her for me? Ask her to look over Rick?"

Negan pats your hand, and as you look up he grins at you, "I could love you so hard, Daryl, but you're taken. I'd be a selfish bastard if I didn't help you get him back."

.....

  
**Rick's Perspective**

Joanie wouldn't leave you alone. Dogging your steps whenever you left the house. Knocking on the door, inviting herself into your home. Barely five foot tall and full of a no-nonsense attitude, Joanie refuses to let you slip away into your mind.

Post traumatic stress disorder. It makes sense, and slowly her persistence pays off and you find yourself telling her about those hellish days trapped in that trunk. You find yourself trying her little techniques, the deep breathing and progressive muscle relaxation techniques. She teaches them to Judy and Daryl and your whole family works hard to keep you here in reality. Your share your fears, that you will die soon, that Daryl will die because of you and she patiently talks you through it all and slowly you start to see you were wrong.

You and Joanie spend so much time together that she becomes like another family member. The other day, you even saw Daryl volunteer a hug for the tiny woman.

It's easier now, to stay here, and Daryl's patient love is your rock. He's all you ever wanted and you came close to losing him.  

......

  
**Daryl's Perspective**

Slowly, Rick's returning to you. Joanie is the best thing that ever happened to you and you love the woman. Rick talks to you now, and tries to explain his headspace, and it's so peaceful to walk back into love with him.

Then one morning, the wild roses in front of the porch bloom. Rick's eyes meet yours and _he is there. Your Rick, completely here and seeing you._

"That smell..." a whisper, "those roses." Hot eyes search your face, "can you ever forgive me, Daryl, for leaving you here by yourself?"

His voice is a harsh whisper, and his self-loathing touches you so deeply that you lose your breath.

"Oh baby," you breathe toward him, "I was never by myself, Rick. I was always just waiting here for you, for you to come back to me."

It's like the air sucks away as his lips slam into yours and you are ravenous, attacking him, your husband melting into your arms. It's the first time he's reached for you in forever.

"House," Judith's knowing voice juts into your awareness, "we have a house for that. And bedrooms."

Both of you turn to her and grin as she adds, "Front porch. Daylight. Small town."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I attempted to make the perspective a little jarring to help show Rick's battle with PTSD - I hope it's easy to follow. As always, share your thoughts.


End file.
